


a limit to your love

by orphan_account



Series: along the invisible curve [5]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-03
Updated: 2010-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-12 09:41:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5th in "along the invisible curve"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_I love this dream of going upstream  
I love all the trouble that you give me  
I know that only I can save me_

 

After the turn of the year, things got busy at school. Senior year was coming to an end, and there were application details to finish, college-replies to wait for, course work, studying to be done for final exams and graduation coming up. Johnny spent less time than ever at the rink, and much less time than he'd have liked with Stéphane, which made him feel awful about pretty much everything from not talking to not having sex to not being in Stéphane's presence for more time than he was generally used to.

If there was one word that might have summed up how Johnny felt as February came to end and March set in, it was loneliness. It used to be that he hadn't felt lonely just being by himself, but having a boyfriend had spoiled him. He even missed the strange disagreements they'd had, and sometimes, he'd have preferred a fight over the silent times where they were both busy studying for their AP courses and the 'A's they needed or wanted in exams. There was barely time to phone in the evenings.

When Johnny came home from school one day to find a post-it on the dinner table saying his dad had to go in to have another operation because his back had suddenly started acting up again, he felt like he was going to faint from exhaustion. Brian wasn't at home, which meant he'd probably gone with the parents, and Johnny, instead of panicking, fished his phone out of his backpack and dialed his mother's number. She didn't pick up. Brian's was next.

After three long beeps, Brian's voice at the other end said, "Yes?"

"It's Johnny. Where are you?"

"Hospital," Brian sighed. "And I gotta tell you, it's as depressing as ever here. They could use some color."

"How's dad?" Johnny asked, worried.

"He'll be fine." Brian's tone changed. "He'll probably get a wheelchair though. His spine's totally fucked, they're saying."

"Shit." Johnny bit his lip. "Is he - mom wrote a note for me, are they operating or something?"

"They started a good hour ago, they have an hour or two more to go, they're giving us updates every half hour or so."

"So when are you coming home?" Johnny bit his lip.

"Evening. I think. I think mom wants to stay overnight, but that's impossible, obviously. She's gotta get back to work tomorrow morning. So.... we'll probably get home a while after dad's out of surgery."

"Okay." Johnny hated how small he sounded.

"Keep your chin up," Brian said bravely. "He'll be home in no time. I'll even give you a hug when we're back."

"Thanks," Johnny muttered. "I'll be waiting."

"Take care. Love you." The last words got lost in between lots of mumbling and the sound of Brian embarrassingly clearing his throat, but Johnny heard it and it made him smile a little bit, right before he realized Brian had hung up on him.

Johnny found Tiger Lily sleeping in his basket, his little puppy-head curled under his body, and he yawned when Johnny stroked his fur for a while. Johnny then spent the next hour cleaning the kitchen from top to bottom, scrubbing the floors and vacuuming the living room and his own room. He considered doing Brian's room, but he was afraid of the horrors that might be hiding under Brian's bed, so he didn't. After that, he found himself pacing up and down the living room, sitting down on the couch, standing back up, waiting for Brian to call.

Tiger Lily jumped onto his lap a half hour later, finally awake and begging for a walk. But Johnny didn't want to leave the house, so he apologized to his dog and made him special food and gave him a few more cuddles after he was finished with his meal. Then Johnny finally snapped up his cell again and dialled Stéphane's number. He needed some company that wasn't a puppy.

Stéphane was over in a matter of fifteen minutes after he heard the news. The doorbell rang, and when Johnny opened, Tiger Lily was jumping up and down, wanting to greet him, barking loudly in joy. He had obviously missed Stéphane horribly since his last visit, which wasn't surprising. Stéphane adored the puppy like crazy and always brought him treats.

Still, Johnny had first dips, and as soon as Stéphane had stepped inside, he had his arms around Johnny's neck, embracing him tightly. "Are you okay?" he asked, running his thumb over the hairline, caressing the patch of skin behind Johnny's ear.

"Fine," Johnny swallowed. "I just had no idea what to do, so... I thought some company would distract me from thinking about what's going on."

"Not a problem," Stéphane nodded and kissed him. It was a fast kiss and then he was off Johnny and walking into the house, hanging his jacket on the holder before he ventured into the living room and sat down at the edge of the couch. Johnny followed, waited. Finally, Stéphane asked, "What happened?"

"His old back injury acting up." Johnny shrugged. "I don't know any specifics. Maybe he overdid the physiotherapy. Always pushes himself so damn hard." He felt like yelling at someone, angry and worn out, but fought to stay calm and centred, keeping his expression neutral. "I don't know. I'll know more when Brian finally fucking calls me, the bastard." Sitting down on the floor by the couch, he looked up and shrugged. "Can we talk about something else? I don't wanna think about it."

"Sure," Stéphane nodded. "I'm sorry."

"I miss you all the time," Johnny sighed. "Damnit, senior year sucks. Why do teachers have to be evil?"

Stéphane smiled. "No idea. I miss you too. I'm glad you called. I - I don't think it's anyone's fault really, that we haven't been seeing each other all that much. It's just life being a cranky old beast, but we can try harder. I'm sorry if I took you for granted or anything, I didn't mean to."

"You didn't," Johnny said. "And I didn't. It's just that we've been friends for so long - I guess we'll have our up and down periods, the ones where we're all over each other, and the ones where life's just so much work and we're apart more. It happens. We're still we, though, right?"

"Definitely a we," Stéphane grinned. He reached down and ran his fingertips over Johnny's cheekbones, then got off the edge of the couch and sat down on the floor as close as humanly possible, pulling Johnny into his arms, kissing him on the cheek, then the corner of his mouth. "This okay?" he asked.

"It's good," Johnny admitted. "But this would be better." He leaned in and kissed Stéphane on the mouth, bit down and licked over his lower lip before pushing, opening his mouth to make Stéphane do the same. Stéphane followed, allowed him in and let him dictate the kiss.

"Stop being so damn careful," Johnny mumbled into his mouth, licking the roof of his mouth. "'m not breakable."

"You're doing great by yourself," Stéphane replied, stroking his back. But he did kiss back more forcefully after that, almost like he wanted to share whatever it was Johnny was feeling - fear, mostly, desperation, worry, lots of suppressed lust - and take it away.

When Johnny went for Stéphane's pants, however, Stéphane caught his wrist. "I don't think that's a good idea," he said.

"Why not?"

"Because your family might be back any minute."

"Not for hours," Johnny said. "And you're lying."

"I'm not." Stéphane shifted onto his knees, uncomfortable. "It's just not the only reason. Look, you're upset. I don't think having sex is the best cure for that."

"But -" Johnny sat back, pulled away his hands from Stéphane's body. A scowl settled on his face. "What else am I supposed to do, then?"

"Do we have to do something?" Stéphane raised his eyebrows. "Can't we just kiss and talk a while and stuff? It's not like we've had much opportunity for either lately, so -"

"But I need to do something." Johnny shook his head. "I need to move around and... do something with my hands and just, you know. Do something."

For a moment, they sat opposite each other, staring, Stéphane thinking, Johnny bad-tempered, then Stéphane said, "Fine. We'll do something. C'mon, get up, get up, this we can do _and_ talk at the same time." He pulled Johnny up by his hand and into the kitchen, where he stopped by the table. Upon Johnny's inquisitive gaze, he smiled. "We'll make chocolate chip cookies. Chocolate chip cookies make everything better. Believe me."

"I don't think -"

"It'll give you something to occupy your hands."

"Groping you would do the trick," Johnny muttered.

Stéphane rolled his eyes at him, then shooed him. "You know where stuff is, right? Right. So let's do this. Get me some flour, sugar, butter, chocolate, baking powder and eggs." He drew himself up onto a counter and watched as Johnny finally got moving, still grumbling, displeased. "In the meantime, I've been meaning to tell you that Alexandra wrote me an email again - she actually thought I didn't want to see her again, can you imagine? She was all insulted that I cut contact and the mail was fierce - anyway, she told me to meet her. So I have no idea what to do, because obviously, I'm not allowed to meet her. Any ideas?"

Johnny started placing the ingredients on the table in perfect order along with a huge bowl and gave Stéphane a look. "Just tell her what's going on. Or meet her in private, whatever. She's not going to tell her dad if you tell her not to, right? Dunno why you've waited so long anyway, of course she'd think you were avoiding her."

"She asked how you were, too," Stéphane grinned. "Must have liked you."

"Funny," Johnny stuck out his tongue at him. "I got the impression she wasn't too crazy about me."

"Man," Stéphane grinned. "Have you met Alexandra? Because I have, and if she smiled at you? You're on a plus list, no question. Did she smile at you? Did she make you a compliment? She didn't call you names, did she, because if she did, maybe you're right, then she wasn't too crazy about you. Obviously. Though it would depend on the kind of names."

"She smiled," Johnny admitted.

"See! Totally loved you!" Stéphane said, and then added, "Maybe you should come with me to see her. You're better at the whole spy thing, apparently."

"Am not."

"Kiss me?"

"Fine."

"I knew you'd see it my way," Stéphane laughed.

It made no sense at all, but Johnny couldn't care less. He leaned in and kissed.

 

~*~

 

The rest of his family returned late in the evening; Brian looked as tired as Johnny felt, and his mom didn't spend much time sharing the news. She looked bruised and breakable and withdrew into her room a few minutes after they'd arrived. "I have to go to work early tomorrow," she said, ruffling Johnny's hair. "I need to get to bed. Be good?"

"Sure," Johnny said with a brave smile. Brian didn't look happy.

"How long?" Johnny asked when she was gone and they were left, just the two of them, in the middle of the living room, staring at each other.

"About two weeks, I think. Maybe earlier if he takes it easy and lets the doctors do all the work and doesn't strain anything. They're strongly advising the wheelchair now already. If anything else happens, dad might not be so lucky and not be even able to sit upright for the rest of his life."

"Oh." Johnny swallowed.

"He'll be bored within a week," Brian sighed.

"If he holds out for a week."

"Shit."

Johnny nodded. "No way he'll be able to work again, right?"

"No." Brian pressed his lips together. "It'll be hard on mom."

"Well, at least college's paid for. They don't have to worry about saving up money for that."

"I don't know." Brian shrugged. "The surgeries are damn expensive. Now the wheel-chair, the whole physiotherapy and maybe he will need psychological counseling too - it takes a lot of money. I'll be looking for a job to make some money if it doesn't cross with school; you should consider taking up a job too during college. If something else happens, they might not have a choice but to use the college money."

"You're right." Johnny sighed. "Well, we should go to bed, too. I'll wake you up tomorrow morning for school, all right?"

"Yeah. G'night." Brian gave Johnny an awkward hug and made his way up the stairs; Johnny thought about what they'd just discussed for a few seconds, then followed. There would be time enough to over-think all this the next day, too.

 

~*~


	2. Chapter 2

Stéphane told him a good week later that he'd finally talked to Alexandra and that she was furious.

"She said he didn't have much say in her life anyway anymore and that he can't forbid her from seeing me, or you, _or_ me-and-you," he said, smiling, happier than Johnny'd seen him in a while.

"That's nice," Johnny simply said. He couldn't quite push aside the twinge of jealousy at the words, because they had a little time now, in between class breaks, and they could have spent it any way they wanted, talking, or making out, and Stéphane chose to talk about his family. It was annoying him, but he knew it made him sound like a spoiled five-year-old, so he swallowed the words and decided not to be mean about it.

"Are you okay?" Stéphane asked, frowning.

"Yeah. Just tired. When are you gonna go visit her then?"

"I don't know. Tomorrow, probably. It's Saturday, and for once, I don't have a test on Monday for my European History class or any heavy reading to do for English, so it's as good a time as any. Do you want to come with?"

"No, it's fine. I've got to go to the hospital. I was just wondering." Johnny gave him a small smile.

"How is your family holding up?" Stéphane asked, and reached over to touch Johnny's wrist, just a tap, but it felt good.

"For now, we're doing well," Johnny said, picking up his sandwich to finally start eating. He wasn't really hungry. "We'll see how long that lasts."

"C'mon, you've had enough bad luck. You're probably in for a break now, aren't you?" Stéphane grinned.

"I don't know. I hope so. I really do."

 

~*~

 

Saturday evening, the phone rang. Johnny was lying in his bed with Tiger Lily curled up against his chest, purring as if he wasn't a dog but a cat every time Johnny stroked his stomach. He picked up the phone from his nightstand and smiled when he realized it was Stéphane calling.

"What's up?" he asked. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," Stéphane replied. There was a warm smile in his voice too. "I just wanted to check with you whether everything was fine."

"It's all good. Dad's getting better faster than the doctors thought. He's home again, but he does really need that wheel-chair, which sucks. At least he can still walk short distances, or with a cane, so we'll deal."

"That's good. That's really good. Do you wanna come over tomorrow? Spend some time together? I don't know if you have any important tests or if you're studying for your AP exams already, but we haven't really spent a whole day together for a while now."

Johnny breathed in slowly, feeling his own smile widen. "I have a paper to write for English, but that can wait. Tomorrow works. Do you have anything specific planned?"

"You. Me. My bed?"

Johnny grinned. "Sounds great." Then he deflated a bit. "How was your visit, anyway?"

"It was fine. We spent some time together, talked about things. Alex was furious, obviously, because her dad's mingling in her affairs again, and they've been fighting a lot apparently, over various things; he threatened her with child services if she didn't comply with his rules. I don't know what's going on there exactly, but it doesn't sound fun."

"Oh. That... sucks," Johnny said, at a loss for words.

"Yeah. In addition, mom and Kennedy have gotten so much more serious. She spends a lot of time over at his place lately, when she's not working. It's - complicated."

Johnny felt a surge of anger. "You know my opinion on this," he said sharply. "You know what I'd do, but you're pressuring me not to say anything, so - just stop whining about it."

"Whoa," Stéphane said, taken aback. "I'm not whining. I'm just telling you about it. If you don't want to hear it, why did you ask?"

"I didn't," Johnny reminded him, frustrated. "I asked about your visit to your almost-sister. I'm sick of your whole drama with her dad and your mom. Either you clear that one up yourself or you don't mention it to me, because it's irritating. It's always the same thing anyway."

"Okay, fine." He could practically hear Stéphane roll his eyes at the other end of the phone. "Don't freak out, I'm not mentioning it again. Jeez."

"I'm not freaking out. I'm just showing you the reality of the thing."

"Believe me, if anyone knows the reality of the thing, it's me," Stéphane said, warning note in his voice. "I told you. I won't mention it again. So let's drop it."

Johnny hummed his agreement. "I should go to sleep now anyway." He knew he sounded rather cold, but he couldn't help it. This topic always managed to get them on the warpath.

"Don't be mad," Stéphane sighed. "I'm sorry, all right? Did you hear anything from your college yet?"

"No. Nothing in the post today, but that's not surprising. I doubt they're working Saturdays." He could hear Stéphane snort in amusement at the wit and added, "You?"

"I... ah. That's another reason I wanted to see you tomorrow. It's nothing to worry about, just. I'd like to talk to you in person about this."

"Okay," Johnny said slowly.

"I didn't get any letters either, though. Anyway. You wanted to go to sleep. I should go as well."

"Sleep tight," Johnny muttered, peeved by the sudden cut-off.

"I love you," Stéphane said, sounding a bit embarrassed. "Good night."

Johnny wanted to answer, but by then, Stéphane had already hung up. People were doing that a lot lately, it seemed. He wasn't ecstatic about it. Really not.

 

~*~

 

Johnny entered through the bakery the next morning, enjoying the smell of fresh bread coming from the ovens, and Chris waved at him when he saw him. "Go on through the back, it's open," he grinned. "Stéphane's doing the breakfast thing."

He was indeed, in lady-bug dotted pyjamas, standing at the counter with his back to the door as he poured tea into a large cup. Johnny entered the kitchen and accosted him from behind, putting his arms around his waist and drawing him close.

"Morning," he said, grinning. "Surprise."

Stéphane jumped in shock, craned his head and then grinned back when realization hit. "Someone's early."

"It's past ten!"

"Didn't feel like sleeping in?"

Johnny's grin grew devious. "I plan to. After much sex has been had."

Stéphane snorted. "You're insatiable." But he did turn around fully in Johnny's embrace and pressed a kiss to his lips.

"That's me," Johnny said, kissing back. "Are you finished with breakfast?"

"Did you even have breakfast?"

"Yes." Johnny kissed him again. "C'mon."

"But my tea -"

"- you can make new tea later." Johnny crowded Stéphane back against the counter and pressed their hips together. "Please?"

"Didn't we have the 'no making out in the kitchen'-talk at some point?" Stéphane protested, putting his hand on Johnny's chest to push him away. Plan foiled, Johnny rubbed up against him and opened his mouth against Stéphane's, deepening the kiss.

"Johnny."

"Shut up," Johnny smirked against his lips. "I'm kissing you."

"I know. Room."

"Kitchen's good."

"I'm not indulging your exhibitionistic kinks," Stéphane pushed him away. "Room."

"But that's up the stairs," Johnny complained. "It's so far away!"

"Johnny -"

Johnny didn't listen. He was already working on pushing down Stéphane's pyjama pants; the waistband was elastic and went down his thighs smoothly, making the tiny, soft hairs brush against his hands as he slid down to his knees on the floor, grinning up wickedly.

"We really -," Stéphane panted, cheeks flushing high, "this is such a bad idea, what if someone comes -"

"Nobody's home," Johnny reassured him and tugged his underwear down decisively, licking his lips. "And I want to suck you off." He ran his fingers up and down Stéphane's cock, teasing him lightly, smiling as he waited for the go-ahead. "I really, really, really want to lick you all over."

And that's what he did, thoroughly, with as much pleasure as he could possibly feel in one single moment. Stéphane's thumb flicked over the outer shell of his ear in a caress as he moaned while Johnny kissed the tip of his hardening cock. Then he took him into his mouth, slowly, deliberately out to torture his boyfriend for the possible next ten to endless minutes.

They took it upstairs after Stéphane was done; the bed was a much nicer place to fall asleep on after sex, after all. Though Johnny had to admit, sex against kitchen counters? He'd do that again. Definitely.

 

~*~

 

There were raised voices arguing in the kitchen.

"Contrary to your belief," a deep, male voice intoned, "I do not spy on you or follow you around, but what you are doing is disgusting; I don't know what this is, if it's some kind of rebellion or if you're just gullibly letting this boy ruin you, but whatever you think you are doing, it's not appreciated."

Johnny paused mid-stride on his way down the stairs, hovering above the fifth step from the ground-floor landing. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. When there was a bout of silence, he decided to make the last few steps and stay just out of sight but peek into the kitchen to see what was going on.

Stéphane was standing by the door with his back to Johnny while Mrs. Lambiel's boyfriend was facing him, leaning back against the kitchen table, knuckles white against the edge. Johnny couldn't see Stéphane's face, but Mr. Russell, despite his ferocious words, looked cool and unfazed, like he couldn't care less. He was still incredibly handsome, but the way he was looking at Stéphane coloured him in an even more repugnant light than usually.

Johnny waited for Stéphane to speak up, but Stéphane didn't say anything. He just looked straight-up, not turning his head away, but also not defending himself. The amount of non-defensibility Stéphane was showing was irritating if not downright aggravating. Johnny took a deep gulp of air.

"I have already, for your mother's sake, been ignoring what you and your repulsive friend do to each other, but the moment you rub my face into it, the way you have done today, I will tolerate it no longer. Even moreso because you have, so I have found, repeatedly overstepped the boundaries I've set upon you concerning my daughter -"

"- Alex didn't -"

"I forbade you to contact her ever again," Mr. Russell said coldly. "And don't interrupt me. She may no longer be sharing a household with me, but she is still my daughter, and as of our talk this morning, she is under house arrest and will be placed in a disciplinary school for her own benefit shortly, at least for the rest of the term."

Johnny blinked. He couldn't see Stéphane's reaction to this, but he could very well imagine how this had to hurt. He would have almost felt bad for his boyfriend, except if it had been himself getting dressed down like that in his own house, by a guy who wasn't even related to him, much less any important part of his life, he would have given the guy a good talking to already. He would have unceremoniously thrown him out on the street and told him never to come back.

Stéphane, however, didn't say a word. He just stood there, like he was expecting _more_. Like he was ready to take more of this shit, without reacting to it in any way. How he could do this was a complete mystery to Johnny, increasing his anger over the whole discussion.

"As for what I had to witness this morning in this kitchen upon my arrival - it has only fortified my decision to have a word with your mother about your future schooling. I can see now more than ever how vast reprogramming might be needed to help you get back onto the right path -"

"- oh, shut up, seriously," Johnny interrupted him, loudly, and finally stepped away from the stairs and into the kitchen, shouldering past Stéphane, not without glancing back to scowl at him. Stéphane was ashen-faced, but his lips were pressed together into a thin line and he wasn't saying a word.

"Excuse me?" Mr. Russell looked at Johnny, all icy glare.

"You will do nothing of the sort. This isn't even your house; it's partly Stéphane's. Whereas he can do whatever he wants in here, you can't, and one thing you certainly can't do, is talk to him that way." Johnny glanced back again. "No matter how much of a doormat he's being by letting you walk all over him."

"Johnny," Stéphane whispered.

"Shut up," Johnny said to him and turned back to Mr. Russell. "I know Mrs. Lambiel cares a lot about you, though God knows why, since you're the biggest douche-bag I've ever seen, but I assure you, if she finds out about the way you've been treating Stéphane, you'll be out of here in a second -"

"Johnny," Stéphane said louder. There was a warning note in his voice.

"Are you going to let him treat you like crap?" Johnny snapped at him. "Because you know what, I don't freakin' care, but this is about me, too, and I am not going to stand by while he calls me a lowlife!"

"This has gone far enough," Mr. Russell interrupted them. He took his briefcase, which had been resting on the table behind him, moved around them in a very careful manner, conscious never to touch either of them, and slid past Stéphane out the door and down the hallway towards the front door to exit. There, he turned once more to face Stéphane.

"If I see you near my daughter in the next two days while I get her relocated and away from the unhealthy influences in this area, I will have you arrested, you can be sure of that. I will speak to your mother about all of this, and we will see what happens." He stopped, then seemed to reconsider his quick exit and added, "One last word of advice: you should hold more authority over your guests, or pick the company you keep better, since if you continue with the lifestyle you have been showing until now, you will have it hard enough as it is."

Over Stéphane's shoulder, Johnny watched open-mouthed as Russell left, unable to believe he'd just heard someone say that kind of thing to his face.

And that Stéphane hadn't said a single word in reply.

"What the fuck?" he asked, voice dangerously low. "What the -"

"Shut up," Stéphane said and made his way towards the stairs. "You've said enough for today."

"Oh, this is my fault now?" Johnny yelled. "You fucking coward, he was insulting you! He was insulting _me_ , while you were just taking it like a complete bitch!"

"I had no intention of getting into any kind of power struggle with the man," Stéphane said evenly, but his expression showed that the words stroke a chord, and not a pleasant one. "And you shouldn't have either."

"Excuse _me_ for liking myself the way I am and not wanting to listen to the kind of bullshit he just sprouted!" Johnny snapped, wanting to take Stéphane by the shoulders and shake him until his teeth rattled to make him understand. He couldn't believe this was happening. He hadn't been this furious in a long time, and he didn't think he would be able to hold onto the tiny slip of control much longer if this conversation went on the way it had been going.

Stéphane stared at him. "There was no reason to barge into the conversation like you did, much less to start a fight."

"No. No, obviously, for you, it would seem like that. Because you never fucking fight, do you. We've had this one, remember? You never stay and fight it out, you choose to run or to sulk or go into your own corner and ignore whatever is going on. Well, guess what, asshole, I can't. I, believe it or not, have some respect for myself and for who I am and I'm not about to let some pretend-highfalutin creep trample over me like I'm barely dirt under his shoe!"

Stéphane gave him a hard look. "You should go home, Johnny."

"Oh, so now you're throwing me out for telling you the truth? That's mature, man, that's just -"

"Seriously. Don't. Just, just don't do this."

"Why? What are you gonna do, break up with me. Again? Because hell, Stéphane, if that's the only thing you can come up with - and to make me _shut up_ at that? That's just pathetic."

"Johnny."

"Stop calling my fucking name! Just tell me what you think, because I swear, you never do. You never stand up and fight, you've been letting this guy beat on you since he started dating your mom and for what? To make her happy?"

"Because she deserves some happiness," Stéphane snapped, hurt. "And we've had this conversation before as well. I don't plan on having it again. Leave. Just go home, okay? Leave me alone."

"What if I don't? Right now, it's looking like I might never get another chance to tell you what I think sucks about you, because you always manage to evade this conversation, so why not have it right here, right now, while we're having a row and get it over with?" Johnny glared. "Because you're a coward, and I hate that about you, I really do. I hate that you can't just tell me what's wrong because you think it'll make you seem, I don't know, weak or something, or maybe you're just too arrogant an asshole to realize that it might be good for you, or you think you don't need anyone, which would be even worse, because it's obviously a lie. And you seem to have no spine where you family is involved, which is just disgusting."

He wanted to go on, tell Stéphane he should also stop making a huge drama out of little fuck-ups that could happen to anyone, because that was getting old, but before he could, he focussed on Stéphane's face, the fury receding a bit to clear his sight from all the red and brightness, and he realized with a hard blow to his chest that he'd just been rambling and he hadn't even thought about whether yelling this at him might not only give himself a way to vent, but also hurt Stéphane.

When he focussed, he realized Stéphane's eyes were brimming with tears.

"What if I don't want to hear it," Stéphane said, voice steely and unflinching, belying the vulnerable expression in his eyes. "What if I don't, because I've had enough abuse for today? If you think just because I let it slide, it doesn't hurt, you're wrong, and if you think I'm going to fight you about what you said, you're wrong too, because I won't. I really don't have the energy. I just want to crawl into my bed and not think about all the fucking hurtful things you've just hurled in my face, right after the person my mom's in love with has called me sick and revolting. Because that _helps_!" He rubbed his fist over his eyes and Johnny could tell he was fighting a break-down. "That's really fucking helpful and it makes me feel so much better about myself. Thanks."

Johnny watched him take heavy steps upstairs, one, then two, and it hit him full-force that he'd just made a huge mistake by broaching this topic today, now of all times, and in that tone of voice, meant to lash out and hurt. "I didn't mean -" he tried to salvage, but it was too late.

"You know where the door is," Stéphane mumbled, and now, the tears were there, in his voice, and Johnny didn't even have to see them to know they were running down his cheeks. "I don't want to see your face right now."

"But -"

"Just _get the fuck out_!"

Johnny opened his mouth again, but then he realized that it wouldn't matter. It wouldn't matter one bit what he said now, because he'd just kicked someone who was already down, and he hadn't even realized. His stomach contracted painfully and there was a sting of fear in his chest that he'd just maybe fucked up for good. This was not one of their smaller fights. This was not Stéphane going off in a huff, or Johnny throwing a tantrum, just to go back to the making out part the next day.

This was huge. This was Stéphane crying over things Johnny had said to him, mean, harmful things, things that were _meant_ to hurt him.

Even worse, Johnny realized he'd completely and utterly broken his promise not to get involved in this drama ever again. He'd given his word that he wouldn't interfere, that he would let Stéphane handle this his way, that he would never do anything to endanger Stéphane's family's well-being. And he'd blundered right in, and while he knew, he just knew he had been right to tell Russell off, he also knew that breaking that promise would realize with Stéphane the moment his mother got wind of what had happened here today.

And then, Johnny suddenly understood, sinking feeling in his stomach, that when Stéphane caught up with everything, they would be over. They would be over, and they would be over for good, because Stéphane had warned him about not keeping that one promise. One freakin' promise and Johnny hadn't been able to even keep that.

Guilty, ashamed and stubbornly convinced he was still in the right, Johnny almost gave up. It didn't feel very good.

 

~*~

 

Monday found Johnny skating fast laps at the rink, giving his skates a long-needed work-out. Evan looked on in slight awe as Johnny worked off his fury from the day, stemming mostly from the fact that Stéphane had not looked at him once. Not in two hours class together.

He practiced jumps until he couldn't feel his butt, and hips, and knees, black and blue from the falls, and only got off the ice when Evan pretty much pulled him off by sheer force because the rink was closing.

"What is going _on_ with you today?" he asked as he helped Johnny untie his skates. "You were ferocious out there. Everyone was getting out of your way!"

Johnny grunted. "I don't wanna talk about it."

"That would be a first," Evan commented dryly.

Johnny shrugged and yanked his right boot off, almost hitting Evan in the face with it. "You should back off. I might punch you by accident."

"Someone's in a bad mood."

"No, really? You only just noticed?"

"Calm down." Evan rolled his eyes. "I'm not the Inquisition. Whatever is going on between you and the boyfriend is obviously between the two of you. In case you haven't noticed, while I do listen when you blab on about your silly little fights, I'm not specifically interested in your drama."

"Wow." Johnny looked away and felt immediately bad. "That told me."

Evan blinked. "Why do I have the feeling I just came off as a total jerk without meaning to?"

"Because I'm touchy as hell right now?" Johnny asked. "I have no idea. Just keep the sarcasm down."

"Fine."

Johnny bit his lip, still feeling guilty. "Did you get an answer from your college of choice yet?"

Evan grinned. "Change of topic, huh? Smooth."

"Shut up. I just gotta stop obsessing over him. Whatever. Distract me."

"I got a reply," Evan admitted.

"Oh. California, right? Are you going to go?"

"I don't know yet."

Johnny frowned. "What?"

"Well, I got accepted by UCLA and turned down by UCS, which isn't a big surprise; they mostly take legacy people anyway. The thing is... Tanith still has a year to go here and it's understandable that she'd want me to stay close. We're not exactly ready for a long-distance relationship. It's been only a year."

"But - but you can't let someone destroy you whole future like that," Johnny said, surprised. "I didn't think you were that type of person."

Evan grinned. "Because you know me that well."

Johnny felt himself flush. "No, sorry. I just -"

"I know. I mean, I care about her, a lot, and I don't want to hurt her, but our interests are going into different directions at the moment and - are you going towards NY?"

Johnny shrugged. "Looks like it. My parents are able to afford it, at least for now, but who knows. And if I finally had my acceptance letter, I would feel a lot more secure about it. But yeah. NY is the destination, at the moment."

"Is that what your lovers' spat is about?"

"Huh? Oh, no, God, no, if it only was something as trivial," Johnny sighed.

Evan gave him a dirty look. "Thanks."

"Sorry. No, we actually applied to a lot of the same universities. What with pursuing the same general direction, it would be a surprise if we hadn't. No, we're having other problems."

"Yeah. I know what you mean." Evan gave him a slow smile that would have flipped Johnny's stomach onto its head if it had head and toes. As it was, it just felt like someone pooled lava into his abdomen. "At this rate," he teased to get over the embarrassment, "we'll both be single when prom rolls around."

"You're planning on going?" Evan sounded honestly surprised.

"Yeah." Johnny shrugged. "If I still feel like it then, that is. I was going to go with Stéphane, I mean - not officially, probably, I doubt they'd allow that, but, you know. To hang out together, make out in dark corners. Give the football team one more aneurism before high school finishes and most of them go on to find their own boyfriends in college..."

Evan snorted, and got up from his seat. "We should get going. They'll throw us out if we stay longer."

Johnny cocked his head and followed, and when they were outside the rink, he scrambled together all his courage and said, "Let's go grab a coffee. I need something hot before my lips freeze off."

It was warm and humid and they both knew it was a lie. But Evan said yes.

 

~*~

 

The next day at school, Stéphane was sitting up front, at the desk between Murray's and Livia's, and it was math: Stéphane hated sitting in the front during math. He didn't even look up when Johnny entered, ignoring him in favour of watching Livia's grand hand-gestures.

Something shifted inside Johnny. There was no reason, no reason at all for Stéphane to act like this because they were having a fight. It was a fight of monumental proportions, but there was a code, all right? Someone somewhere had probably written a book about how you didn't abandon your best friend even if you were utterly sick of the part of him that was your lover. Or the other way around. Whatever worked.

He wanted to go there, to the front, pull himself up to full height before Stéphane's desk and confront him about this; what was happening to them, and what he could do to _fix_ this. He wanted to so badly his feet made a step all by themselves, and another, but then, Stéphane leaned over Murray's desk to scribble something into his coursework, probably some sort of correction or maybe just a funny quote because they both started grinning over it.

Apparently, Stéphane wasn't quite as broken up about what had gone down between them as Johnny had assumed he would be. There was an eye-opener. He'd thought - he'd honestly thought Stéphane was as miserable as he himself was, but instead, Stéphane just ditched him and went for the next best friend. That… hurt a lot.

Johnny found a seat at the far back, between the resident goth girls who were known to be sworn enemies, and hoped they wouldn't start attacking each other over his head. He took out his math book and his own coursework and waited for the teacher to arrive, graded homework from the last lesson in tow. He already figured it would be a long, long two hours.

 

~*~

 

Evan was standing by the lockers when Johnny left the classroom of his Art&Design AP course. It was his last class for the day, and he arrived at his own locker right next to Evan's to lay off a few books he wouldn't need for the remainder of the week.

It had been another class he'd had to sit through with Stéphane choosing a seat away from him, giving him the cold shoulder. Johnny was starting to have enough of this behaviour. They had to talk at some point. It couldn't just stagnate like this, especially now when they had been planning to grow stronger as a couple. Senior year only lasted a few more weeks. He didn't want them to end up like this when high school was over. And who knew whether they would indeed end up at the same college, or even in the same state? He wouldn't - he couldn't lose his best friend over this.

Evan nudged him slightly and smiled when he realized Johnny was so deep in thought he was flat-out ignoring him.

"Oh," Johnny blinked, and looked up. "Evan. Hey." He only noticed then that Evan had been trying to catch his attention for some time now. "What's up?"

Evan's smile turned into a grin. "You're totally out of it," he commented.

"I am?" Johnny sighed, rolling his eyes. "I don't think anyone but you noticed, honestly."

"Some of the guys noticed, don't worry," Evan gave him a heads up. "Speculation is running wild about who cheated on whom in your cracked relationship."

Johnny groaned. "I wish people would mind their own business."

Evan shrugged. "It's your own damn fault for making your relationship public like you did. Did you think people wouldn't talk about your little -" Evan waved his hand in the air vaguely, "smooching fests?"

"Smooching?" Johnny smirked.

"Shut up."

Out of the corner of his eye, Johnny noticed Stéphane passing him in the hallway, head low, flanked by Samuel, who was chatting merrily, not noticing that Stéphane wasn't listening. Livia was at his other side - again - and was grinning up at Stéphane rather adoringly. Johnny had never hit a girl (not hard anyway), but he wanted to punch her in that moment. In the teeth. To make them all fall out.

"Sorry," he muttered to Evan and gave him an apologetic look before he stepped forward and blocked their way. "Look," he said, flat-out forcing Stéphane to acknowledge his presence this time. "We need to talk."

Stéphane raised his eyebrows, then nodded and gave his newest friends a glance. "Go ahead. I'll find you outside."

"Are you sure?" Samuel asked. "We'd wait, if you prefer -"

"It's fine. This might take a while." Stéphane didn't sound happy about that.

Livia waved and smiled, and Johnny felt sick when Stéphane smiled back, even though the smile was not very enthusiastic. Johnny had never had anything against Livia up until now. She was a nice girl, cool pink glasses, bright and self-confident - but right now, he wanted her to hurt in various places at once. He thought that might have something to do with the fact that he was pretty sure she was trying to chat up Stéphane. He didn't want to analyze the violence in his imagery any further, though.

Evan threw Johnny an exasperated look when Stéphane led the way, muttering, "Let's not do this here," and Johnny kind of agreed with Stéphane, the hallway wasn't the right place for this discussion, but he knew what Evan was getting at. There was _no_ right place for this discussion. He'd dug his own grave. Most people didn't get out easily from beneath six feet of brittle earth.

"Got a place in mind?" Johnny asked, nervous, because this was his chance at repairing things, and he could, maybe, do it. He just didn't know how. His brain was completely empty, swept clean of all rational thought.

Stéphane nodded. "Chemistry lab is open and nobody's in there anymore, not at this hour."

"... they leave the chem lab open?"

"The teacher can never find the keys," Stéphane reminded him. "She just trusts that nobody is gonna go in there and play with the dangerous stuff. Not that anyone here would be interested to try anything cool in the chem lab. That would require reading up on chemicals."

Johnny felt a bit of the weight drop from his shoulders and breathed out in relief. Stéphane was talking. If Stéphane was talking, that couldn't be a bad sign. It meant he was done ignoring Johnny completely and maybe they could start patching things up now.

However, when they entered the lab and Johnny settled back against the first row of seats, hands gripping the desk edge behind him, he realized that throughout the walk, Stéphane's facial expression hadn't changed: he didn't look any more forgiving than he had this morning.

"What is it you want to tell me so badly?" he asked. His voice was very cold.

Johnny pressed his lips together and said, "I wanted to apologize. I know I shouldn't have meddled -"

"Damn right you shouldn't have."

"Please. I know this isn't going to get me off the hook, but you have to believe me when I say that I didn't mean to get any more involved in this than I was already. Still, damnit Stéphane, he was insulting our relationship! And I'm so sorry about what I said afterwards, I know it was mean of me to - to add that after everything that had happened and everything he said to you."

Stéphane shook his head. "I know all that. Why are you telling me things I know?"

Johnny shrugged.

Stéphane gave him a long, impenetrable look and said, "I believe, I do, that you're maybe a little sorry for what you said. But you also still think you're right about what you did."

"Because I am!" Johnny said. "I'll apologize for it because it hurt you, but you have to admit -"

"I don't have to admit anything." Stéphane turned and walked towards the door to leave. "I told you. Leave me alone, I don't want to talk to you, preferably for a long time."

"You can't just break up with me like this," Johnny protested, pain back full force, and the flicker of expression he caught on Stéphane's face as he stopped and tilted his face to the side showed that Stéphane wasn't as unperturbed as he was acting either. He was clenching his fists so hard that his nails had to be buried deep in his palms. "You can't just break up, you can't!"

"Thanks to your great plan, my mom got her heart broken and hasn't talked to me for days," Stéphane whispered.

Johnny winced. "Is she -"

"She's _not_ all right, she thought he was going to _propose_. She thought they were going to have a life together, and you know what, I just wanted you to stay out of it, but you couldn't. You couldn't, not even when I begged you to stay away. So fuck you, Johnny, and fuck your apologies, because if your pride gets in the way of my family's happiness, that's where I draw the line."

"What about your happiness?" Johnny muttered, pale and drawn and he didn't dare to take a step forward to touch Stéphane, to just feel his skin against his own, even though he wanted to very badly.

"I'm in love with you," Stéphane said, soft, careful, "but I'm not going to let you trash me. I'm not. I won't let you walk all over me, I - you can't talk to me the way you did, you just can't!"

"You let _him_ talk to you that way!" Johnny said, aggravated. "I slipped up once, while he was treating you like crap all the time and you bore it without saying a word, but when I say something, in rage, you -"

"Because you are supposed to love me!" Stéphane yelled, eyes burning. "You - you are so stupid, I don't care about him. He doesn't matter, but you do, and you are supposed to _love_ me!"

"Don't walk away," Johnny choked out. "Please, please, I didn't mean to say that stuff, I didn't - I do love you, I swear, I didn't mean -"

"I don't care," Stéphane said hoarsely. "I honestly don't care anymore, because you just don't treat a person you love that way, you don't get to call me a bitch and disgusting if you love me. Except, obviously, if you're Johnny Weir. Johnny Weir apparently can, because he's always right and can get away with anything."

"That's not true; you know I don't think that!"

"I'd say actions speak louder than words in this case," was the scathing reply. Stéphane bit the inside of his cheek, which Johnny couldn't really see except for the slight bobbing of his head, and made true of his reputation, walking away, leaving, through the door and out of sight. There had been a tear running down his cheek, and Johnny realized he had managed to make Stéphane cry once again.

He stayed behind, and he didn't know what to say to make all this un-happen. One, because Stéphane was right, he'd been no better than Russell, acting like he had towards Stéphane, and two, because there was still the problem of Stéphane's family, or rather, his mother. And as long as she thought Stéphane was the one who had wrecked her relationship, Stéphane would never forgive him.

 

~*~

 

Mrs. Lambiel was working in the bakery when he arrived in the evening, prepared to turn this whole thing around. He had to talk to her. He had to tell her the truth. It was simple as that, there had to be some clarity now. He had to stop with all the sneaking around and the lying and the deceiving, and finally show what had been going on lately.

She seemed surprised to see him, but quickly gathered herself and smiled. It didn't look very convincing. "Hello, Johnny. How are you?"

"Actually, I'm terrible," he admitted. He went up to the counter and put his hands on it, looking for words. "Can I - can I talk to you for a few minutes? In private? I know it's closing time in a bit, and I'd even wait until you close up, but after that, can we talk?"

Mrs. Lambiel gave him a strange look, trying very hard to keep up appearances, except it wasn't working so well. Johnny's visit wasn't planned or expected and brought her completely out of her concept. Suddenly, her whole facade broke and she just looked incredibly tired, worn-out and, as Stéphane had predicted, heart-broken. He knew the look in her dark-brown eyes kind of well by now. The thought made him cringe.

"Okay," she just said. Her smile was even more pathetic than the one before, and Johnny felt really, really uncomfortable being on the other end of it. He squirmed until she muttered, "Why don't you go inside? Sit down in the living room; I'll join you as soon as I can."

Johnny hesitated. "Is - is Stéphane at home?"

"I think he went skating," Mrs. Lambiel frowned. "He won't be back so soon. I can try his cell phone if you want -"

"Oh." Johnny shook his head. "It doesn't matter, I just - I'll wait inside?"

She gave him a third smile - nothing radiant or happy, just a simple lift of the corners of her lips - and nodded. Johnny sighed and made his way inside. After all, he knew the way all too well.

 

~*~

 

He was slipping back into his sneakers, already on his way out, when the front door opened and Stéphane stepped into the hallway, baffled when he saw Johnny crouching by the shoe rack. There was a flash of such intense longing on his face that Johnny felt like his heart skipped a beat for it, but the expression vanished behind a mask of aloofness the moment past events were recalled.

"What are you doing here?" Stéphane asked instead, voice rough and vulnerable.

"I came to talk to your mom," Johnny replied, lifting his chin, standing up to full height. "To explain what happened."

"Why would you do that?" Stéphane asked, gripping for the door to hold on to something. "It doesn't matter. It's not -"

"I explained everything and she understands now. She - your mom, she knows what he did; she knows it's not your fault! She was appalled when I told her what he said about us, about you, and what he made you go through. We -"

"It still doesn't solve anything!" Stéphane snapped, squeezing his eyes shut, pressing a fist to his lids. "God damnit, Johnny, why can't you just leave me alone? I'm working through this, I'm -"

"I just wanted to help!"

"I don't need your help! You've fucking helped enough, don't you think? You've helped enough for a lifetime, and it doesn't solve anything that you're trying to fix it with everything you have right now! You broke your promise! I'm trying to deal with that, why can't you see that?"

Johnny opened his mouth, but Stéphane held up a hand.

"How can I trust you to ever keep your word, when you always do what you want anyway?" he continued then, hard, every word scathing. "You... goddamnit, you lie and - and break your word and do things behind my back. How am I supposed to come through in _any_ argument we have? How am I supposed to convince you to not do something that you have the urge to do? You'll tell me you won't do it and then you'll just go and do it anyway, because you _can_! I can't live with that, okay? I need to be able to... to rely on a person not to do that to me, especially not when I'm already vulnerable! How do you even _imagine_ a relationship when you can't keep to the simplest of rules?"

"I didn't -"

"Don't you fucking dare telling me what you did or didn't do. I was fucking there! If you say - if you tell me one more lie right now, I swear, it'll be _it_ , I'll never, ever come near you again."

He was close to crying again, or maybe screaming his lungs out, Johnny wasn't sure, but he knew it wasn't good. It hurt so much he thought he was going to burst, but he kept his mouth shut. He kept his mouth shut and didn't reply anymore, because Stéphane was right. Whatever he said now, it wasn't enough. It just wasn't.

"Go ahead, then," Stéphane said, voice breaking like fractured glass. "Go ahead, promise me you'll never do it again."

"You wouldn't believe me," Johnny said, hollow.

"And how _could_ I?" Stéphane hit the door behind him, not too firmly, but hard enough for it to probably hurt. If what he was feeling was anything like what Johnny was feeling, the spike of pain probably hadn't even registered.

"How can - how can I fix this?" Johnny mumbled. "How - this isn't easy for me either, okay? How - tell me what I can do, I'll do anything to put this right."

"Do you promise?" Stéphane asked, sneer in his voice while not on his face, not a hint of it on his face, or his eyes, and Johnny still thought he deserved that one.

"I'm so sorry," he said hoarsely. "I'm so sorry."

"Well, it's not enough."

Johnny bit his lip, squeezed his eyes shut and pushed past him, out the door that Stéphane was holding open for him, unforgiving. Always unforgiving, and Stéphane might not hold a small grudge for very long, but Johnny knew him. He was really hurt, he was so fucking hurt he wasn't even ready to discuss it, and this wouldn't pass quickly.

He made it through town somehow, with blurry sight and not paying attention to honking cars as he passed streets. He made it, but barely, and when he arrived home, he felt like his legs would just give out beneath him. Tiger Lily jumped up and down by his feet, too curious to be careful enough to avoid being stepped on, and yowled when Johnny managed to trample his tail. Sulking, he retreated back into his puppy basket.

The worst thing was: when Johnny fell into his bed and buried his head under his pillow, all he could do was to sniffle a bit. He couldn't cry, he couldn't even sob properly, even when he realized, after an hour of stifling heat and complete silence, that they were over. They were really and truly over, no question about it, and no estimate on how long Stéphane wouldn't speak to him.

No amount of grovelling, begging and text messaging would be able to repair this. It was very sad.

Johnny felt like he _should_ cry, or at least find someone he could talk to and hug and touch to get rid of that horrible feeling of loss, but he was completely drenched and at the same time dried out from inside. Possibly, he thought, he would have a melt-down in school tomorrow in front of all the sport teams combined, and people would laugh and point at him and tell him what a pathetic loser he was, to have his heart broken by no other's fault but his own.

He didn't go to school the next day. He told his mom he was sick and he looked so miserable that she believed him.

 

~*~


	3. Chapter 3

The ironic part of the whole thing was that Johnny really got sick the next evening. It was Thursday and his mom had to work late and his dad had physiotherapy which left Johnny alone at home. Brian was out with Lacoste; they called it a study date.

He would have liked to share the immediate association with Stéphane and he was half-way to the phone when he realized that that was not a good idea. After all, Stéphane had just broken up with him. Had to break up with Johnny multiple times until Johnny finally got it. Calling Stéphane now wouldn't improve the situation, it would only hurt them both more. Johnny's mood took a nose-dive just at hearing the word.

So instead, he found a blanket - it might be late March, but it certainly wasn't too warm yet - and curled up on the couch with his Moulin Rouge DVD playing and Tiger Lily licking his neck carefully, looking for a good place to lie down and fall asleep. By the end of the movie, he finally managed to just let go, and there was a huge lump in his throat because the movie was so sad and everyone died and Johnny wasn't dying, really, but he was really close to it, or that's how he felt and he could finally cry; he sobbed hysterically into his puppy's fur, which was just as well, because he was pretty sure he had a fever, and losing moisture was just what he didn't need at all.

That was how his dad found him when he returned past nine, wheelchair making squeaking little noises as it rolled over the carpet in the living room. There was a hand on Johnny's forehead, cool and a little rough, Tiger Lily jumped off of his chest and onto the floor, yelping multiple times, and his dad said, "Johnny? It's late, are you okay?"

Johnny murmured something into the wet pillow beneath his cheek and found he was too apathetic and soggy to raise his arm to rub away the dried trails tears had left on his burning cheeks. He heard his dad heave himself out of the wheelchair and take the few steps to the couch, sitting down by his feet, pulling the cover down from his shoulder to get a look at his face from that angle.

"Kid, you can't sleep here." His dad's voice was gentle but firm. "C'mon. Get up and to your room."

"Don't wanna," Johnny muttered. His mouth was dry and tasted like cotton balls. "Drink?"

"You'll probably be up quicker than I will," his dad reminded him. His hand was strong on Johnny's foot, squeezing. "What's wrong?" he asked. "You look like someone died."

Johnny could feel a sob coming on and he was too weak to stop it, and another tear leaked from the corner of his eye. "Stéphane broke up wi'me," he whispered.

"Oh." His dad stopped moving and sat still. "I'm sorry," he finally said.

"Me too."

"Was it - did you do something, or did he -"

"I fucked up," Johnny sniffled. "I 'roke all m'promises. An' called 'im names. An'," he hiccuped. "An' I wan' 'im back!"

"You're sweating like crazy," his dad soothed, rubbing his drenched back, t-shirt clammy and clinging to his skin. "Your clothes are soaked." He leaned over and touched Johnny's cheek. "And you have one hell of a fever. That's - not good. Johnny, c'mon, you have to help me out here, I can't carry you upstairs anymore."

Johnny shook his head, burying it back into the pillow. "Don' wanna," he repeated. "Wanna stay here."

His dad reached for the remote and turned off the TV and Johnny gave a sigh of relief. "I have to get you into bed. You're ill, you need to change and -"

Johnny swallowed another sob and chocked, shaking his head. More tears rolled down his cheeks. He felt hot and disgusting and everything was gross and sickening and he was starting to get goosebumps because it was also really cold in the room which couldn't be, because he was burning up. He tried to gather more of the blanket to pull around him.

The front door slammed shut and steps came towards the living room. "I'm home," Brian reminded everyone, voice echoing from the hallway. "Dad, are you back already?"

"We're in here," his dad said, not too loud, which Johnny appreciated. His head was buzzing.

"What's going on, are you guys having a movie night - oh." Brian stopped, then walked closer, and Johnny felt him stop right before the couch. "Is everything okay? Oh my God, Johnny, what's wrong, you look like shit!"

"Help me get him upstairs," his dad said. "Can you hold him upright on one side -?"

"I'll carry him. You'll have enough trouble getting up the stairs yourself. He's not so heavy, I'll manage if he can put his feet underneath himself." Brian shed the blanket, which wasn't nice, and Johnny made a grab to get it back. A whole-body shiver overtook him.

"C'mon," Brian said, impatient. "Don't be a little bitch, I'm trying to help."

"Don't want," Johnny said, more clearly, teeth chattering. "Wanna die."

Brian rolled his eyes. "Stop being melodramatic and help me get you upstairs. God, you need a shower, you reek."

"Don't care," Johnny muttered. "Cold. Hot. 'm so cold."

"He's got a fever," his dad said, stating the obvious.

"Okay, let's get this show upstairs now," Brian commented with a sigh. "Johnny, feet. Right. This is working really well."

 

~*~

 

His mom stayed by his bed the rest of the night, and then his dad the next day, bringing him drinks and letting him sleep and even Brian came looking once in a while to check up if he was all right. That was how it went almost the whole week; mostly, it was his dad who kept him company when Johnny was awake.

At first, Johnny kept begging for them to bring him Tiger Lily so he'd have someone to hug and cuddle and so he wouldn't feel so lonely, but his mom explained that he was a small puppy and might catch a bug and that it was unhygienic and they'd both be better off not slobbering all over each other, so he had to give that plan up. Not that he put up much of a fight in the first place. He didn't have enough energy for that anyway.

By the beginning of the next week, he felt a little improved, but not by much. Johnny couldn't have said he _wanted_ to get better, so that, he admitted, might have been one reason why his recovery took a lot longer than a normal flu would have. The other reason was that he'd been much too stressed lately and he'd hardly gotten any sleep and adding time at the rink to that, skating more than he should in the cold, completely cracked his health.

He still didn't get out of bed by Tuesday, though he tried to sit up. Brian brought him some food to chew on, and then they realized it might not have been such a good idea to start with a chicken-sandwich after a long pause from hard food. It pretty much landed all on Brian's sock-clad feet when Johnny leaned over the edge of the bed to puke it back out.

After they were both cleaned up, Brian lied down beside him, taking a deep breath and said, "You better pray I won't catch this from you. If I have to lie in bed for a week, I'll kill you."

"Okay," Johnny said, not taking the bait. He didn't sound okay. He wasn't even looking at Brian, and he knew his brother was worried, but he didn't know how to fake that he was okay. It was, after all, the end of the world as he knew it.

"What's wrong with you?" Brian finally asked. "Stéphane didn't even come by once this past week, and he usually always comes, even when you just have a twenty-four hour bug or something. I miss his chocolate."

"I miss him, too," Johnny said and could feel a sob blocking his air pipe. He swallowed, coughed and rubbed his eyes. "We broke up."

Brian shifted to his side, staring at Johnny. "You what?"

"I did something bad. I did a few things that were bad, and he finally had enough and broke up with me. He doesn't want to see me anymore. At all. Not even as friends. He hates me, even though he said he still loves me, he totally hates me right now. And I hate that he hates me and I want to hate him for hating me, but I can't."

"Oh, Johnny." Brian laid back down and sighed. "Oh fuck, this is so bad."

"You don't even care," Johnny muttered. "You hate that I'm gay and that I like him that way and you think we're disgusting, too -"

"I do not," Brian said vehemently. "Stop talking crap, I know what you're doing, you're trying to get me to tell you how much I hate you too, so you can wallow in more self-pity and tell yourself what a poor pitiful little princess you are."

"Leave me alone."

"I will. But you're going to work on getting better now so you can crawl out of this bed and get on with your life. It's just a break-up. You're not the first, nor the last person to get their heart broken, so get the fuck up and move on. You're not just making your own life harder, you're also fucking with mom's, and dad's - they're worried about you. Mom's been working herself half to death lately and you make her stay up all night as well, at your bed, being concerned and caring for you. How does that help, huh?"

"I'm sorry," Johnny mumbled. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that."

"So get better and get out of bed and go back to school." Brian sat up and jumped off the bed. "By the way, you got a letter. Actually, you got that important one and three more while you were out of it, and we didn't want to tell you until you were feeling better."

Johnny turned his head to glance at him, surprised. "What?"

"Yeah. These are college replies. And some financial thingies -"

"Brian," Johnny glared. "Would you mind hurrying up with the unimportant details?"

Brian grinned. "You better have gotten into FIT, or I'm going to beat you with a stick."

Johnny could feel his heart start pounding in his chest, hard and fast, excitement rushing through him, and a powerful surge of hope. He tried to get out of bed, fought off his cover. "FIT sent a reply? Really? Brian - please, can you -?"

"Dude, stop fretting and exerting yourself. Hang on, I'll be quick. Don't get up!"

Brian was gone for exactly two minutes, which was two too many for Johnny's taste. By now, he was completely awake again, his ears rushing, his blood streaming through his veins, high with adrenaline. For all the two minutes, he didn't feel ill anymore, he felt full of promise.

He didn't wait for Brian to reach for the letter opener, he grabbed the letters, picked the one that was clearly labelled with the university seal of his first-choice-college and ripped the envelope open. Then his eyes traced the first sentence of the first letter, "Dear Mr Weir, you have met all the conditions of admission and we are pleased to offer you -" and then he just put it down and gulped and a huge beam spread over his face.

"Oh my God, you're in," Brian grinned back, and then he did give Johnny that hug, despite the germs.

 

~*~

 

After the Tuesday of his acceptance letter, Johnny wanted to go back to school, but his parents managed to persuade him to take it easy. He wasn't quite healthy yet, and he could afford a few more days. It wasn't like he'd been skipping school and slacking off since the beginning of the school year like some of his fellow classmates, so he gave in and stayed at home; he did, however, start working out his finances and scholarship details and made a few more desperate attempts to find money sources, because he quickly realized he wasn't going to get enough money from the college grant.

By Friday, he had enough of the hassle with various organizations and their secretaries from top to bottom and decided to do something about the FIT's completely ridiculous summation of what he was entitled to. He was also in a decidedly bad mood about everything, from not being able to go skate, over Brian's constant remainder that Stéphane still hadn't visited or even called, to the fact that his parents were being over-protective and telling him not to strain himself and not to get out of bed, best not to move at all and let them pamper him.

Well, Johnny had things to do: and also, if he didn't distract himself from the life as he was living it at the moment, he thought he was going to go mad. He had to do something productive, something that wasn't going to remind him that his heart was completely and utterly broken and pounding painfully in his chest like a constant tooth-ache.

Apparently incompetent fools didn't only live in the Weir residence, they also lived at the college facilities, because when he called the department that was responsible for financial grants and asked about what they'd taken into consideration for his grant, he realized that they didn't even know that his dad wasn't able to work anymore because of his injuries and that his mom couldn't work as much as she used to since she had to be home more often for him, and that all their data wasn't up to date, and, okay, so that wasn't maybe their fault, they couldn't know that so much had changed recently.

But still. They could have asked.

After that was all settled and they said they'd send another estimate as soon as they got his documents and papers and new tax returns, he felt like he was going to die from exhaustion. It was just past noon, but he crawled back into bed anyway and fell asleep, his room spinning in circles before his eyes.

Maybe, he thought when he woke up early Saturday morning and tiptoed barefoot into the kitchen to make himself a coffee, he wasn't quite as back on his feet yet as he had thought he was. Stupid flu. His dad seemed to be in agreement with him, because he gave Johnny a sharp look and said, "You really shouldn't be running around the house without socks and slippers, you know? And what are you doing up at this hour?"

Which, Johnny couldn't help but notice, wasn't the most sensitive thing to say to him in the morning, especially when Johnny was in a bad mood, so he just took his cup, gave his dad a scathing glare and returned to his room, where he didn't put any socks on for the hell of it.

He did burn his tongue on the coffee, though, which was probably what his dad had wished him for his behavior downstairs. The world was against him these days, no kidding.

 

~*~


	4. Chapter 4

Truth was, Johnny wasn't popular with the other kids at school, even the unpopular ones, or the unsocial geeks, or the random unnoticeable kids that no one paid attention to. It was why he'd latched on to Stéphane that intensely when they'd first met - well, that, and probably because he liked being told he was pretty.

On the surface, he seemed like he got along with people well, but for most of the kids, he was too crass, too loud-mouthed, too intense. Too much trying to get everyone off his back before they could accuse him of being anything they expected him to be.

He'd used to not hate being alone, but it grated on his nerves these days, the need for company, for human touch, like a disease, making him even brasher and more unpleasant than he'd started out, which resulted in even less people bearing his company.

What drove him utterly insane was the constant feeling of eyes on the back of his neck, gaze clinging to his clothes, his backpack, his skin, someone watching his hands, his lips, paying attention to how he moved, what he said, and sometimes, when he looked over, Stéphane turned away his head, flushing miserably, but stubbornly silent.

He was still hanging out with Murray and Sam and Livia and the three of them didn't seem to grow close to him, but at least Stéphane had people to spend his time with when he wasn't studying, doing homework or at home. Johnny didn't have that luxury. No one wanted to come near him, especially now that he was doing the wounded-bear routine and kept lashing out at everyone who said a word about Stéphane and him. He didn't even mean to, but the words just left his mouth every time someone mentioned Stéphane.

Even Evan had gotten his share of abuse for bringing it up, once. They still met at the rink, and by now, Evan had learned not to mention any topics that might turn out unhealthy for his digestive system. He'd been warned, after all.

April went on its way and Stéphane ignored him and Johnny suffered, quietly, and realized that acting like it didn't affect him wasn't all that hard to do. And, well, sometimes, when he stood at his locker and Evan started talking to him, out of the blue, more often now than not, he could feel Stéphane hurting inside, too, and that felt better. It did feel like he was paying back something neither of them deserved, and that was pathetic, but couldn't bring himself to care.

Two very important things happened in April, which, when Johnny would think back later, he could have used to his advantage instead of just letting nature run its course - after all, letting nature run its course was what had gotten the Titanic rammed into an ice berg in the first place. Johnny had long ago learned that sitting quietly in a corner while the world passed by around him was not how he wanted the world to pass him by.

It was all Stéphane's fault, anyway, because if Stéphane hadn't broken up with him in that almost too painful way, Johnny wouldn't have felt lousy enough to stop doing anything but go to school, study and visit the ice rink; and then, maybe everything would have turned out fine.

The first thing, maybe two weeks into April, was one that Johnny hadn't expected at all what with AP tests and final exams coming up and graduation and prom happening soon after. And, admittedly, it wasn't at all what he had expected from Evan and Tanith, who had to him mostly seemed like such a conventional and private couple before.

Half the upperclassmen population was standing around in the hallway when Johnny arrived that morning, shaking rain drops off of his umbrella and generally shivering from the sudden attack of cold weather. He just wanted get to his locker, then to class and let his trouser legs dry up, and rid himself of several burning questions about his portfolio for this term before he finally gave it to his Art&Design teacher to grade. He hadn't planned on stopping, but the commotion was hard to ignore, and so was the girl yelling from somewhere in the centre of the ring of students around her.

It sucked for Evan, Johnny thought to himself - wincing as another expletive hit the air - that he was almost a head taller than most of the students watching the spectacle taking place like they'd never seen anyone dump somebody else. He was very visible and he looked very humiliated.

Johnny _had_ robbed them of the dubious pleasure of watching Stéphane break him into tiny little pieces of shredded paper by making the whole thing happen behind closed doors, so they had to find their entertainment other ways. Johnny didn't know her too well, but Tanith had a reputation for being a drama queen. Like, a bigger queen than the gays in school. And she was rather popular, so that made it double enjoyable for the gossips at school.

Not that Tanith looked like she was enjoying herself. Different people just lived through their pain in different ways, he figured. It seemed Evan agreed more with Johnny's quiet suffering; he looked devastated and mortified, and his face was bright red as he let Tanith's words rattle his frame. Johnny didn't catch all of it, but it was enough to get the gist: he'd probably told her this morning that he'd sent his confirmation that he was going to UCLA. By his locker. In front of everyone and their little sister. Not a smart move on Evan's part. He should have rather expected Tanith to explode at the news.

It was the talk of the whole school for the rest of the day. Johnny was surprised and wondered how he could have not noticed that they were such a high-profile couple; but then, it _was_ mostly juniors taking the news hard and tattling about it and Johnny didn't generally much deal with them except for passing them in the school hallways.

He caught up with Evan as he was leaving the school through the main entrance, followed by glares from Tanith's friends and curious glances from pretty much everyone else. It had to be horrible, Johnny imagined, and then for Tanith to break up with him about his choice of college - well. It wasn't the perfect day.

"Are you okay?" he asked, hastening to catch up with Evan's quick steps, leading away from the school building and towards the main street. It looked like he wasn't going for the bus station but walking it off instead.

Evan shook his head and continued walking, but he did slow down a step, which to Johnny was a clear position on the fact that he didn't mind him by his side and wanted the company.

"I'm really sorry," Johnny added quickly. "I don't know what went on, I only caught the tail end of the debacle this morning, but I'm really, really sorry."

Evan shrugged. "It was coming for a while now," he admitted. "It wasn't so surprising, really, she did say that she wasn't going to stay with someone who 'wasn't about to put some much-needed validation behind their meritless words'. Which basically means she was doubting that I was behind our relationship as much as I was assuring her I was."

Johnny squinted up at him, rubbing the strap of his backpack with his thumb uncomfortably. "Was she right?"

"Maybe?" Evan gave him a look. "I did what I could to make it work. If it wasn't enough... then maybe it just wasn't meant to be."

"That's bullshit," Johnny snorted. "There's no such thing as 'meant to be'. If you couldn't make it work, you couldn't make it work, period."

Evan raised an eyebrow at him that pretty much said 'Look who's talking' and Johnny snapped his mouth shut. They walked the next few dozen meters in companionable silence.

"You do realize you're not on the right street, right?" Evan finally commented. "Your home is actually the opposite direction from where we're going."

Johnny grinned, pleasantly surprised. "Of course I know. I thought you might need the company. You know how misery loves that, and we're both miserable because the people we love have left us because we don't love them enough and, well. We could watch cheesy movies and try to hysterically laugh about that?"

Evan stopped walking and turned towards him, gripping his shoulders. He was a lot taller, Johnny noticed. It had registered before, but never quite in this way. A flash of desire raced through him and he suppressed it, because he shouldn't be feeling this. Not now, not ever. They weren't like that, after all.

"Not today," Evan told him, quiet and serious and not jerking away from the touch. He didn't look scared, just sad. "I need a while to get over this by myself. I appreciate what you're doing, but - look, I just don't want company right now. It's nothing personal."

Johnny nodded. "But..." he hesitated.

"What?" Evan glanced away from his gaze, at the sky, grey and wistful and it seemed like it might start raining again in a few minutes. He didn't look happy about that, either.

"It's just. I mean, before, we were only talking at the rink, and then, we started talking at school, and I mean - you're my friend." Johnny bit his lip, embarrassed. "I think you're my friend, at least. I don't know if you realize that, but if you don't want me around and are just doing those things because I'm a complete mess right now and you're doing the pity thing - I don't need that. It'll just hurt me more in the long run, if you act all friendly now just to go back to being an ignorant jerk later."

"We're friends," Evan said evenly, without hesitation or a flicker of doubt in his voice. He didn't seem concerned, just careful. "I don't - I don't think it's a good idea to be friendlier than we are right now, at school, no offence. But yeah, we can talk and, like, spend time together, outside that."

Johnny desperately wanted to ask why Evan was so afraid of being seen with him at school, if he really thought the whole gay rumours would catch up with him. If he thought being seen with Johnny would make him seem like he was queer or something, when he'd survived the last three and a half years of high school without anyone ever thinking he was anything but straight. But he didn't say anything, because he knew it would be stupid to jeopardize this. It wasn't like he had any right to bargain. Instead, he just asked, "So what's it gonna be? You'll tell me when you feel like doing something together?"

Evan gave him a small smile. "I'll meet you at the rink, Johnny. And we'll see how it goes from there."

Well, that was good, too, Johnny decided and turned on his heel to finally make his way home. It wasn't what he'd always wished for, not even close, but it was good enough for now, and maybe they'd be able to practice some skating together that required closer contact than they usually allowed themselves. He had a feeling that would do him some good.

 

~*~

 

It was a good practice. It was a very good practice even, despite the backwards crossovers not being especially pretty still, not that Johnny was aiming to win a beauty contest here. Still, he kind of loved doing them, and he wanted them to be perfect. More perfect than perfect. And he'd been practicing them for a long time now, but that didn't mean they couldn't use improvement.

Evan had been doing his own thing on the other side, and there were the occasional kids getting in Johnny's way and one older woman with a very beautiful spin who was more enjoying it than really practicing.

About an hour after they'd arrived, entering together since they'd picked the same time to start, Evan skated over and decided it would be more fun to play around. Johnny didn't protest. Especially not when Evan put his arms around his waist and twirled him around, grinning. It was almost a week after his break-up. He was definitely feeling better when he could grin like that, Johnny decided, and suppressed a shiver at the touch.

"What's this supposed to be?" he teased. "Are you trying out for pair skating now?"

Evan rolled his eyes. "Not with you, I ain't," he corrected. "Unless you plan on having surgery anytime in the near future?"

Johnny stuck out his tongue. "You can still try to lift me, though," he offered. "I promise not to be too heavy."

That actually made Evan laugh. "I guess you'd be used to being dropped on your head?"

"Ha ha. Very funny," Johnny glared. "Well, we can just practice steps together. I saw this video of a pair last weekend online, I can teach it to you, it's just like, one step sequence, but it looked wicked."

Evan's eyebrows rose. "Very hard?"

"Tired already?"

"No, but we've been here for a while and I need to get home. My parents are expecting me to have dinner at home tonight, we're having visitors."

"Family?" Johnny asked, skating around him in a circle.

"Business," Evan shrugged. "Dad wants show me off to his research collegues, or something, what do I know? It's not going to be very fun."

"Oh. Sounds boring, yeah." He grabbed Evan's hand finally and put it on his hip, because he was tired of the constant chit-chat and if he waited much longer for Evan to do the first move for their impromptu pair skating, he would probably wait forever. "Is this okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, sure." Evan didn't seem to have a problem with the touching, even though it hadn't occurred to him to take the initiative. Johnny didn't know why that irritated him so much – after all, he was almost always the one to press, to push, to ask what they were gonna do – but today, it did irritate him. He wanted Evan to get it; to show that Johnny was more than just a burden once in a while. Stepping forward to the plate would be a nice way to say that Johnny was, in fact, appreciated as a friend.

Not that Evan needed friends so desperately. Unlike Johnny, he was actually pretty popular with most of the guys, even the sport team members.

"So, right skate first," Johnny announced and started explaining how this was supposed to work. Evan was a very attentive student, and Johnny enjoyed the warmth of his hand on his hip, sending pleasant jolts up and down his spine. He wanted it to move, wanted to feel Evan's fingers slip under his shirt and over his stomach, rubbing along his navel, up towards his ribs, but he didn't mention that. He shouldn't think about that, he reminded himself.

It was very hard not to think of it, with Evan breathing down his neck, making the little hairs there stand up; Johnny hadn't had sex for long, painful weeks and he just... missed having someone to curl up with, to touch and to kiss. And if he couldn't have Stéphane - well. He'd wanted Evan first anyway, right? And maybe Evan didn't really like him like that, and maybe Evan was straight, but not everything was a hundred percent anything, and Johnny could hope, right?

They skated together for half an hour more and the clock said half past five when Evan finally relaxed his grip on Johnny's hip and drew back a little, smiling. Johnny saw the smile out of the corner of his eyes and smiled back, because seeing Evan smile had been a rare occurrence this past week. Then Evan's smile vanished like a switched-off light and he raised his eyebrows, looking almost nervous.

"Don't freak out," he said softly, slowly letting go of Johnny's body, of his hand, putting a good ten inches of distance between them by skating backwards and then he said, in normal tone of voice, "We didn't do anything wrong."

Johnny could feel his stomach churn at the words, because they hadn't, except that his thoughts hadn't been exactly pure even when Evan's were, and he still turned his head towards the sitting rows because he couldn't not. Stéphane was sitting there, seemed to have been sitting there for a while, with his skates on his feet, all ready to get on the ice, except not.

They were too far away from him to see the expression in his eyes, but Johnny had a feeling what it would be. For a moment, there was a cruel flash of desire to continue this, to make it worse, to put Evan's hand on his waist and his arms around his neck and act like they were - but Stéphane didn't deserve that, and Johnny knew it, and it was just an impulse, he wasn't really that mean. He wasn't.

So instead, he said, "I - I'm going to call it a night," turned around and skated towards the other exit from the rink, not the one Stéphane was nearest to. Guessing at an expression, after all, was still very different from seeing it. And he definitely didn't want to see it.

 

~*~

 

Evan's cell phone buzzed in his backpack, loudly, for all the class to hear, which was pretty damn embarrassing, no matter how many times it had already happened in this class and in many others before. Johnny winced and hid a smile behind his book. He slid his cell back into his pants, sound and vibration alarm turned off, because, well, he was better prepared than Evan, and waited.

Five minutes later, Evan reached down, pulled the cell out and flicked it open, reading the message. As he was putting it back, he turned his head towards Johnny, rolled his eyes like Johnny was completely out of his mind for doing this now, but he did nod. Apparently, Johnny thought, amusement plain evident on his face, he'd never passed messages on by paper during class either. Evan was missing out on a lot of fun in his life.

As it was, they had a study date for the day after tomorrow, to revise for their finals.

Johnny tried hard not to think of all the implications and memories of that word and then strictly reminded himself that it was just studying. No date. Studying. He'd bring lots of books. He didn't think Evan would even consider this anything but school business.

Two days later, sitting by a long, dark-wood dinner table in Evan's living room, books, diagrams, papers and notes strewn across the top of it, he didn't find his predictions disappointed, no matter how much his hopes were. He shouldn't have hoped for anything but this. There had been nothing in Evan's behaviour to indicate that anything had changed aside from the fact that they spent more time together as friends.

It didn't stop Johnny from wanting.

 

~*~

 

The first exam, in his Art course at that, was right in the first May week, a hot and sunny Wednesday afternoon, and had the reputation to be one of the hardest exams Johnny would ever have to write in his entire school career. It was especially high-pressure since he needed to do well.

He only realized later that he needn't have put himself under so much stress, because the questions, when he looked at them, were all standard and were all about exactly the material he'd studied and what he'd learned throughout the year; it didn't help to ease his already frayed nerves, sadly, which were making him sick with anticipation anyway.

It probably showed, because his teacher gave him an encouraging smile when they started, and another one when he, at the end of the two-hour period, put down his pen and gulped down a deep breath, multiple pages with answers before him on his desk. There were about ten minutes left of time, but he felt empty; he'd written all he knew, there was no sense in going through it, correcting things that he'd probably gotten right on the first try and could only screw up now.

He looked up, about to stand, when there was a flurry of motion in the room a few desks before him and he saw the heads of a few other students turn as well. Stéphane had gotten up and was walking to the front, stack of pages in his hand. He didn't seem too sure of himself, especially when he turned to return to his desk and realized Johnny was watching him.

Their eyes met and Johnny bit his lip, at the same time feeling Stéphane's gaze turn sad. Then Stéphane looked away, quickly, almost like he didn't want Johnny to know, but still not happy that he had to either. He quickened his step and made it to his desk, gathering his things, tension in his shoulders screaming that he wanted to get out of here, now.

Johnny abruptly stood and hurried, returned his teacher's smile when he got to the front, then as fast as he could packed his things up and followed Stéphane outside.

"Stéphane," he said, just as the door closed behind him with a click.

Stéphane was standing a few feet away, leaning against the wall, eyes closed, expression anguished. When he realized Johnny'd followed him, he quickly straightened, and his face drew blank again.

"Hey." He didn't sound unfriendly, just distanced. Like he'd rather be anywhere else but here.

"I - I wanted to... I was finished too. At the time you handed your exam in." He approached him slowly, carefully. "Did you do okay?"

"Johnny -" Stéphane said.

"I just - I care, all right?" Johnny winced inwardly when Stéphane flinched. "I mean -"

"I did fine," Stéphane replied, swallowing hard. He tried to overplay the awkward moment by giving Johnny a tentative smile. "Did you get that symbolism question about the second painting, 'The gate beyond the gate'? I had trouble with that one."

"Oh. Yes. I pulled some stuff outta my ass, it wasn't like it was obvious or like… I think that has multiple possible ways of replying to it. Though it being a 1976 painting... well. I wrote a lot more to the visual analysis question though. I think that one was worth most points."

Stéphane nodded. "So... good exam, huh?" He shifted and pulled on the strap of his backpack, breaking away from the wall he'd been leaning against to put less distance between them. "Listen, I -" he reached out to touch Johnny's arm, which was bare, because the sky was clear and the temperature had risen over the past week like crazy, and he was wearing only a t-shirt and the contact, skin on skin, felt like a burn.

Without thinking, Johnny hissed and yanked his arm away, and realized the same second that he didn't want to react that way, he wanted to get closer, to make things better again, to return the touch and make it last, make it longer. He snapped forward, gripping Stéphane's hand in his own, painfully firm, saying, "I didn't mean - I was surprised, I do want to -"

But Stéphane was turning his head away, trying to take his hand back, out of Johnny's grasp and said, "Please," in a tiny voice.

Johnny let go, because of course, it had been too good to be true. He'd - for one second, he'd thought they might -

"I can't," Stéphane muttered. "I'm sorry, I - I didn't mean to seem like -"

Johnny took a few pelting breaths and said, "Fuck you." He turned on his heel and hurried down the hall, because by now, this felt like a fucking mind-game, and he wasn't going to let Stéphane jerk him around, no matter how guilty he felt.

 

~*~

 

Finals were over two weeks later. The whole senior student body groaned in relief after that, because it meant that one could enjoy the superb weather without the looming threat of a failed grade that would destroy all the college plans already made.

The Art&Design AP class teacher called the last lesson and then, not exactly unexpected since it was also the last class they had that day, she invited them all for ice cream. They were just eight students in total, so they wandered down the main street towards an ice café, her leading the way, students following, chatting amongst themselves.

Johnny, not being especially close to anyone in his class, already saw the disaster happening when more quickly than not little pairs of twos and threes panned out for everyone except but himself and Stéphane, who wasn't friends with any of the other girls and boys either. Which, to both their utter dismay, resulted in them sitting closely together, thighs almost touching, on one side of the table while their teacher, in deep discussion over high fashion with Frederic Rockville - not Johnny's favourite person in the world since he'd called one of the other boys a fag - sat on the adjoining side, resulting in two of the girls pulling another square table close so they could all sit together.

For a while, Johnny just perched on the edge of his seat morosely, reading the card with all variations of ice cream listed on it, registering every little shift and motion of Stéphane's body next to him, until he couldn't conceal it anymore and said, "Would you stop fidgeting?" rather more sharply than was really necessary.

Two of the girls gave him surprised glances and only went back to their talk about their History exam when Stéphane gave them a quick smile, assuring them everything was fine. Johnny lowered his chin and felt distinctly uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry," Stéphane muttered. "I'm sorry about before, in the hallway. I didn't mean to imply anything, it was just a reflex."

Johnny should have known Stéphane would use this situation - them surrounded by people, sitting bodkin, no way to escape - to breach this conversation. He really should have known.

"I swear, I wasn't trying to upset you," he continued, oblivious, and Johnny could feel the heat coming off his cheeks against his own, his warm breath against his neck when Stéphane turned his head to look at him.

"I'm upset by just being forced to look at your face," he said meanly, and enjoyed watching Stéphane's pupils dilate in pain. He felt ashamed just a second later and rubbed his upper arm through his t-shirt, uncomfortable. "Sorry," he apologized. "I didn't mean that."

"Yeah." Stéphane gave him a tight smile. "You're really working hard on that 'treating people in your life better' thing, I can see that."

Johnny winced at the words, unable to find a way to reply to them that would be remotely adequate, but he was saved by the waitress that came up to their table to get their orders. After she was gone, the awkwardness came back ten-fold, since suddenly, everyone's conversation had halted and no new topics were on the table yet.

Then, unexpectedly, one of the girls - Johnny knew her name to be Cherish and she wasn't normally one to run out of her crowd - turned to Stéphane and asked him what kind of plans he had for college. Her smile was generous and she seemed honestly interested.

Johnny found himself staring at his shoes under the table, tapping out a rhythm as Stéphane smiled back at her, grateful for the break it gave him, and stuttered his way through an answer that mostly emphasized how he didn't want to talk about it yet until it was absolutely certain where he was going.

Johnny bit the inside of his cheek so hard it sent a jolt of pain down his spine. He didn't know what he'd been hoping for; he didn't even know if he was still hoping that he was going to get to see Stéphane when they realized they were going to go to the same college.

He just knew that it would be a new start. And at the same time, it wouldn't be. It felt very strange.

 

~*~

 

It wasn't quite over after they left the café with the intention to go home; they both lived in the same direction, had to walk the main street for a good ten minutes before their paths would part, and for a second, Johnny considered just saying he had to go somewhere else first to wait five minutes just so they wouldn't have to walk together. But then he realized how stupid and pathetic he was behaving. There was no reason not to keep each other company.

They set out in silence, but unlike before, when they had been friends, and then lovers, it wasn't an easy one. Johnny imagined it was probably full of reproach, and fear, and maybe even desire.

He held out maybe two minutes, skin itching, before he said, "I hate the way we are."

It was the complete truth: he did. But he also said that because movies weren't really the better way to go. He didn't want to ask whether Stéphane had seen Spiderman in the theatres yet; it might lead to questions and questions would lead to answers, and the one name Johnny didn't want to say out loud right now was Evan's. After all, at least they were talking. It would almost certainly destroy things; Johnny had no illusions about how much dropping _that_ bomb on Stéphane would hurt him. Stéphane had always considered himself his best friend. Johnny didn't know what to call him now anymore, when they were less than nothing. He just knew he didn't want to hurt him any more than he already had.

"I hate it too," Stéphane echoed, voice low. "I hate that we can't even look at each other. We used to - it's not been that long. It's just not been that long."

"I want to be friends again," Johnny mumbled, trying not to think of anything but the problem at hand. There were so many things, these days. "I miss you so much," he finally admitted. It felt like a huge admission, when really it wasn't. They both knew that, after all. It wasn't a secret.

Stéphane made a little sound in the back of his throat that sounded like when Tiger Lily was trying to climb onto his bed to curl up under his covers because he was lonely. "I was worried," he whispered. "You weren't at school for over a week. I wanted to visit, but I didn't know whether I could."

"You could have," Johnny half-smiled. "Brian was missing you horribly."

"The chocolate, huh?" Stéphane smiled back, a glint of white teeth, and Johnny's heart started beating for lost kisses and the taste of his mouth. He looked away and said, "It's more that the Weir gene in general might be highly susceptible to the Stéphane Lambiel charms, regardless even of sexuality."

That startled a laugh out of Stéphane, who caught himself quickly enough to look plenty embarrassed at the outburst. "Thanks. I think."

They had about fifty meters more to go until Johnny had to turn right and he didn't want the road to end, but he knew it would, so he just went ahead and took all the courage he could find and said, "I never meant to hurt you."

Stéphane closed his eyes. "I know."

"I didn't mean to treat you horribly. I'm sorry for taking away your choices from you. I didn't mean to do that either."

"I -"

"And I'm really sorry about your mom, too. I didn't mean to meddle in her love life. Or in your family situation." It was the most complete apology he could muster without betraying himself. It felt better, saying that, putting it out like that, because it was true, and because he thought that it needed to be said. A lot of things needed to be said.

Stéphane was looking at the ground, but he had noticed that they were there, too, at the parting point, because he stopped, and lifted his chin and said, "I really hate that you can hurt me this way, and that I have no control over it whatsoever."

"But I don't mean to -!"

"It doesn't matter." Stéphane shrugged. "It doesn't. It should be enough that you know that you have that ability, that you _can_ , whenever you want. And if you abuse that kind of feeling, when anyone feels that way for you, that's an awful thing to do. You can see that, right?"

"Yes." Johnny stepped close to him and reached out with his arms, and he just wanted - something.

"All right," Stéphane said, slowly, but he did take that step forward as well and his arms circled Johnny's waist as Johnny hugged him, fingers closing around his neck to pull his head down onto Johnny's shoulder, squeezing tight.

It was almost like nothing had changed, except a lot had changed and they were back at square one, almost. Stéphane still smelled like fresh bread and warmth and chocolate and Johnny still wanted to kiss his neck and lick over his collarbone and make love to him for the rest of his life. But when he lifted his chin off of his shoulder and forced Stéphane a few inches back to look into his face, Stéphane's face wasn't happy, it was troubled and scared and when Johnny leaned in anyway, because he needed that kiss, Stéphane turned his head to the side and stepped out of the embrace.

"Don't -" he said. "Don't yet, okay?"

"Time," Johnny said, and he felt a half-scoff, half-laugh crawl up the back of his throat, hysterical. "The one thing we don't have."

"I'm really sorry," Stéphane said, rubbing his hands against his jeans, because they'd been a little sweaty, maybe from excitement or the heat.

Johnny gave him a frightened look. "We're - we're friends, though. Still. Right? I mean... this is. This means we're better, right?"

Stéphane nodded, quick, hasty, almost staggered. "We're getting there." His lips quirked up in another small smile. "I promise."

And because Stéphane wasn't in the habit to break promises easily, Johnny felt his chest free up, like it was easier to breathe now that he knew that they were going somewhere, finally, that this was a closing of kind, that they were making up. It was slow, and he was impatient and he wanted fast, now, immediately to jump back to where they'd left off before the whole mess, but he understood, too. To press now would be disastrous. He wasn't stupid enough to try.

He reached out, pushed a strand of hair from Stéphane's forehead just to feel the skin, his hot cheek beneath his fingers, then they said their goodbyes and left for home. Later, Tiger Lily in his arms, he wondered if Stéphane could be persuaded to come visit for a while if he said that their puppy missed him.

It was the truth, after all. He was all for the truth these days. He was working on it really hard.

 

~*~


	5. Chapter 5

The second thing happened towards the end of May, just as prom was drawing near. Johnny was starting to fidget about responsibilities and choices and his parents' idea to go on a trip to Europe in the summer for a few weeks. He knew what that was about. He knew that it was something they'd always wanted to do, and now with his dad's health getting worse and better and worse again randomly, they wanted to finally take that trip, as long as they could.

It was a lot of money. It was also probably completely and utterly worth it, just to see the cities and landscapes and the culture. But then, maybe he shouldn't go with them. It probably wasn't such a good idea; they could do with a bit of privacy now and then. Maybe he had yet time to find an internship somewhere in the city.

He was thinking about that - not very clearly, but he was thinking - as he walked through what he was pretty sure was a classmate's home, looking for the bathroom. It was a party. There were lots of people. Drunk people. It was a little disgusting, except Johnny was pretty sure if he'd drunk a few more vodka shots, he'd like it better too.

Someone walked past him carrying a tray and he grabbed a shot and downed it. Afterwards, he felt a little better. It burned in his throat, which hurt. Pain was good. He was used to pain by now. There were people on the floor in one of the many corners this house had, and they were pretty much fucking - or would have been, if they hadn't been wearing clothes - and another couple was making out on a small table that, he could have sworn, had been occupied by a plant before. He wondered what had happened to the poor plant.

He didn't know why he was here except that Evan had wanted to go, because it was senior year and they had a right to party now that finals were over. Johnny shared the mentality, but he was lazy. Parties were too much work. Socializing was too much work. Especially when the other end of the social scale was assholes with too few reasons to brag and girls who had nothing in their heads but how to get into one of the boys' pants.

No, Johnny wasn't disgusted by any of them. Or at least, he tried very hard.

He found the bathroom without stumbling over anyone, which was a good thing, but he did have to go up the stairs to get there, which had been bothersome. He would have preferred not to have to go down again when he was finished and even more drunk. The possibility of him falling down those stairs on his way to the lower floor rather than walking was rather too high for his liking.

He locked the bathroom door behind himself after he'd entered, drowning out the loud, pounding music that was echoing through the house. Somewhere below, glass shattered and broke, and a lot of people screamed, then there was a round of laughter. He washed his face with cold water, wishing he hadn't come. He did his business and washed his hands and face again. He hoped it would give him a clear enough head to make it out of here alive without getting distracted by another lovely little drink with an umbrella.

There were dolphins drawn on the mirror. They were rather pretty.

He stumbled over the small carpet that covered the floor tiles, unlocked the door (managed at second try) and made his way outside. He had to find Evan. Evan would drive him home. Hopefully. Or maybe not. They hadn't really talked about who'd stay sober to drive home. He really, really hoped Evan wasn't drunk, because this place wasn't anywhere near where they both lived. It had taken them almost half an hour to get here by car.

Johnny wondered which idiot had convinced him to drive here with Evan of all people. Evan was probably picking up some girl by now, ready to ditch Johnny and leave him scrambling for a way to get home.

He wanted to be the girl Evan picked up. He really, really, really wanted to get to touch Evan that way. Or maybe he could find Stéphane and they could have sex. He really missed having sex with Stéphane. Stéphane was always so careful and lovely to him. Almost like he really, really cared about Johnny, and he was gentle and he kissed really, really well.

He got down the stairs fine, surprisingly enough. He only fell on the last step, but by then, he'd caught himself on the railing and was standing upright again. He also found Stéphane one corner away from the stairs, on the other side of the railing, leaning against the wall, hand on a girl's cheek, pushing their lips together like the world was ending today.

Johnny reeled with pain. The earth tilted under his feet and he had to grip the railing harder so he wouldn't keel over. He could see Stéphane's tongue, slipping into her mouth, dark red lipstick smearing, his fingers in her long hair, her graceful little nose dipping up as she giggled.

Johnny felt his stomach heave, and the next thing he knew, he was on his knees, throwing up all over the floor, taste of bile and alcohol burning his throat, his mouth, his insides contracting, swirling sickly.

They didn't notice him, didn't even pay attention to anyone around them, and Johnny realized it was Cherish, whom he hated, a lot, like he'd never hated another person in his life. He wanted to go there and punch her, punch Stéphane too, shake him until he realized what an ass he was being, until he hurt so badly that he would never get off that floor again, wanted to stomp on him and kick the crap out of him until he bled.

Instead, a little fire lit inside his belly, a bitter, cruel feeling, something better, something he could do to really hurt Stéphane, really break his heart, completely, more than he'd already done, and he couldn't really think straight, but it seemed like the perfect revenge, like if he did this, he'd come out the winner.

First he looked in the kitchen, which showed him a bottle of tequila in the fridge that was unopened, and a bowl of strawberries. He washed out his mouth, then poured himself tequila in a high glass and took a strawberry and started drinking it like water, popping a strawberry after every gulp. His stomach burned, but at least, it helped get the taste of vomit out of his mouth and the feeling of nothing out of his stomach. There was a deep lack of anything there, where his intestines had been before.

He finally found Evan in what had once been the living room and was now a pile of glass from the fallen chandelier and a broken dinner table. He was sitting on the couch with a bunch of other guys and girls, laughing hysterically, playing some kind of number game that didn't make sense even on third glance. They were passing around a cigarette and the air was a cloud of smoke, dim and blurred.

"C'mon," he said, and pulled Evan up.

"Where're you going, Evan?" one of the girls asked, eyes half-closed giving him the bedroom look. Probably, she was going to fall asleep in the next ten minutes.

"Just come," Johnny hissed, grabbing his wrist and jerking him after himself, making Evan stumble through the door.

"Where - what's going on? Johnny? Are you okay?"

"I'm perfect," Johnny ground out. He managed another look at the wall that held Stéphane's imprint, even though the shape was invisible. Stéphane wasn't there any longer. Johnny imagined him going off with that girl, finding some room, fucking her until she screamed, and his insides screamed as well. "We're going upstairs. We need to lie down."

Evan said, "Okay."

And really, he sounded stoned, but Johnny couldn't care less. Stoned, drunk, it was all the same. They could totally do this. He wanted it, his skin was prickling with anticipation, with desire. His blood was rushing in his ears, and if it was fury, well, it could just as well be need. Whatever worked. He didn't want to know, he just wanted to feel someone touching him, someone caressing his skin, someone showing him that he was worth something.

He wanted Evan to fuck him raw; that was all he wanted.

 

~*~

 

They found a room; it reeked of sex, but the covers of the bed were unmoved. Johnny pushed Evan back until his knees hit the edge of the bed and he fell backwards.

"Are you all right?" he asked, crawling after him, getting rid of his own shirt in the process.

"'m fine," Evan muttered. "What are you doing?"

"Fucking you," Johnny said, lying down beside him, on his side, facing him. "You want to, right? You want to have sex right now?"

"God, yes," Evan groaned. "I really, really - but not. Johnny, this isn't right. We shouldn't. You're not even a girl."

"It doesn't matter. I want to. You want to. It's all good."

Evan squinted at him, turned onto his side, too, to be able to look him in the eyes, lips close, warm breath coating Johnny's cheek. "I'm not sure," he said. "I'm not sure it's all good."

Johnny grasped his shoulder, pushed him back onto his back and straddled him, leaning down. He told himself he'd been waiting for this for years. He had it now, laid out before him, in his grasp. He just needed to take it.

Johnny had always been good at taking what was rightfully his.

He leaned down and pressed their lips together, for the second time ever. The kiss started out slow, because Evan couldn't get into it, didn't open his mouth, didn't return it with the same enthusiasm. But Johnny was a boy. He knew which buttons to push. He knew _exactly_ which buttons to push.

Two minutes later, he had Evan moaning his name, gasping open-mouthed as he begged for another kiss. Johnny gave it to him, and enjoyed it, because this was what he'd always wanted. This was so much better than Stéphane. This was hard and fast and passionate.

He laid down on top of Evan just as Evan least expected it, pressing their bodies together, chest, stomach, groin, rubbing up. The spike of want that went through him was ecstatic. It send a jolt of pleasure down his spine that made him arch into another kiss, breathing in sharply, and his cock grew hard, finally, excited at the prospect of what was coming. Johnny smiled and pushed his hand between their bodies, slipping it under Evan's shirt, touching his nipples.

Evan looked floored. He blinked, than gave another moan and said, "Oh God, that's -"

"- so good," Johnny finished for him, kissed him again, enjoying the feeling and taste that was nothing like Stéphane. Evan tasted of alcohol and smoke and the pineapple slices that had been lying all over the house at their arrival, snacks of fruit.

The moment Evan was out of his shirt, their chests sliding together, sweat making everything better, Johnny breathed easier, and then something happened which he didn't expect. Evan stared up at him for a few seconds, almost like he was thinking, considering, not for long, but long enough to make Johnny think something was wrong, and then he found himself flipped on his back, Evan grounding down against him, hard, almost cruel, and hellishly good.

Johnny gave a loud gasp, put his hand on Evan's back, the other on the back of his neck, and pulled him down into another kiss. Evan slid his tongue in Johnny's mouth and silenced him, and his hands were rushing down Johnny's sides, thumbs over smooth skin, down his ribs, his waist, sticking on his hips.

"Get them off," Johnny said roughly, mind blurry with want and fear and so much delight. "Pants."

Evan breathed. "Are you -?"

"Get them the fuck off," Johnny snapped, breaking through the haze.

"Pushy," Evan smirked, but it was a little hooded, like there was something that he wasn't saying. Johnny ignored it and smirked back.

Evan got him out of his jeans with practiced ease, and for a second Johnny wondered if he'd done the same thing with Tanith, slipping her out of her clothes, one by one, first the jeans, pulling down her underwear, down her thighs, kissing his way down her leg, his knee, his calf. Evan licked his ankle, then got off and threw the jeans out of the way onto the floor, started taking off his own pants.

"I want you," Johnny murmured. "Please?"

Evan nodded, pupils blown wide, eyes almost completely black, and chucked his own pants onto Johnny's.

"I want," Johnny said, got off his back and helped Evan out of his briefs, pulling them past his erection, touching it gently. "This okay?"

"Yeah..." Evan said, gasping at the touch.

His mumbles of "it's okay, oh, oh, it's okay," turned into moans when Johnny made him sit, knelt between his legs and touched the head of his cock with his mouth. It was working, he thought. It was working really well. He was enjoying himself. This was great. This was better than...

And Evan was close to coming, he was really close and his gasps were getting higher, desperate, and Johnny didn't want that. Johnny wanted something else entirely, Johnny wanted more, he didn't want to feel so empty anymore. And he wanted to give something Stéphane had never had. He wanted that most of all, to take something away from Stéphane, to make him _hurt_.

There was a little sound as Evan's cock popped out of Johnny's mouth, and Evan groaned, touched Johnny's hair, gently, said, "Please, please, I want -" and Johnny said, "Shhhh," and said, "I want you to fuck me."

 

~*~

 

It was the most horrible thing Johnny'd ever experienced. It hurt so much he couldn't stop crying, silently, so Evan wouldn't stop, so Evan wouldn't know, and the tears ran down his cheeks, and he thought that he might even deserve this because he'd done so much wrong. So much wrong.

And then a sob wrenched out of his throat, one lost sob in between buckets of tears, and Evan stopped forcing his way inside Johnny's body and asked, voice breathless, gasping for air, gulping it down like he was choking, "Johnny. Oh God, Johnny, what's wrong?"

And that was when Johnny broke down, completely, started sobbing so hard that his chest hurt more than his heart, and his lungs had trouble filling themselves with air and he thought he was suffocating too and then there was pain everywhere, his whole body on flames, from his fingertips, clenching at the bedcovers too hard, to his back, straining to not flinch away from the incredible pain of Evan entering him, to his legs, bearing most of his weight, on his knees, the skin over his spine glued to Evan's chest, and he _couldn't stop crying_.

Evan said, "Shit, shit, shit," and then, he pulled out, roughly, too hard, too fast, so scared, which only made it worse. But being scared always made everything worse. The pain was so horrible in that moment that Johnny blanked out for a second, stars bursting into bright light before his eyes, his head growing heavy, pulling him down. He collapsed on the bed, arms giving way beneath his weight.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so - oh my _God_ , Johnny, you're bleeding, fuck, fuck, _fuck_." Evan's babbles managed to sink through the sudden painless fog, alarm bells sounding in his head, because the word blood wasn't good. Blood was never, ever good. But he didn't want to get up. It was too hard.

"Johnny, please, please, don't faint on me, why - why didn't you say that it hurt, shit. Shit, I -"

At least he didn't sound stoned anymore, Johnny thought with a dash of hysteria. Probably, fucking another guy up the ass had a clearing effect on anyone's head. Especially if it didn't end in a mind-blowing orgasm but in tears and pain and blood.

"What - what do I do? Johnny, please!"

"'s okay," he said, and had to suddenly stifle another sob. It wasn't okay. It would never be okay again, or so it felt. But he couldn't say that to Evan. "It'll stop. Soon. I promise."

Evan stared at him, Johnny could only see it out of the corner of his eyes, a dismayed, stunned stare, and said, "You've done this before. Right? Johnny - Johnny, please tell me you've done this before."

"Of course," he lied easily, the lie sliding off his tongue like an ice cube. Going with the truth - well, maybe it wasn't worth it after all. All it led to was Stéphane fucking other people. All it led to was Stéphane _not coming back_.

"You - you know how to deal with - Johnny - why aren't you - you're fucking bleeding. Please, we need to get you to a doctor. We need to - wait here. Please, don't move? Please, don't move. I'm going to - to go do something. Anything."

And that was the last Johnny heard of Evan's voice before the door fell shut, leaving him in darkness, which was when Johnny finally allowed himself to cry some more. Because it hurt like a bitch, and Evan couldn't know, but he didn't want to feel this pain anymore, ever. That was the last he knew, and at some point, maybe one minute later, maybe five, he must have cried himself into oblivion.

 

~*~

 

Johnny woke up in his bed. It was bright, the sun was shining into his room, and it smelled clean and fresh, like when his mom got the sheets fresh out of the laundry and put them on his bed. Then he realized he wasn't on his own, another person's body touching his arm, his foot. When he opened his eyes, he saw that it wasn't his bed at all.

Johnny jerked up, scared. His body protested: his butt hurt, his legs hurt. His chest was tight enough to make him think he must be wearing a corset, except he was only wearing pyjamas one size too big, making his hands vanish in the sleeves.

When he checked who was lying next to him, slowly, breathing in against the fear, he remembered what had happened. Evan was sleeping beside him. Evan's bed. Evan's room. Evan trying to fuck him. Excruciating pain. He closed his eyes and took another deep breath. He had to get home somehow.

"Don't get up," Evan mumbled, reaching out to touch his arm. "Please. Please, don't get up."

"Why am I here?" Johnny asked, rubbing his hands over his eyes, then running his fingers through his hair. Even his hair hurt.

"I didn't know what else to do. Last night." Evan sounded mortified as well as worried to death and scared.

"What - I don't know what happened. After." Johnny felt tears coming and forced them back. He was good at that by now. It worked. It only made his throat feel too taut and closed-up.

"I know. You - mom said you must have passed out from the pain."

"Your mom?" Johnny asked, horrified, pulling up the covers as if that would help his dignity at all.

"I had to. I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do. I - after I saw you were bleeding I - and I couldn't drive. I was too drunk _and_ I was high, I couldn't - God, Johnny, how could you do this? To yourself?"

"I don't know." Johnny looked away.

Evan waited a beat, but when Johnny didn't say anything else, he cleared his throat. "I called my mom, then. She's a doctor. My parents - they both are. They're - well, my dad's not a doctor per se, he does more research, but my mom's a surgeon. She was off duty after two am, and she - she picked us up. She - she's really mad, though."

Johnny winced. He had met her once before, when he'd been studying at Evan's. She'd been very nice, gentle, self-assured. Tall. He didn't want to get Evan in trouble. He said as much.

Evan bit his lip. "Too late for that. And well, it's not like you forced me to have sex with you. Even though theoretically we didn't really -"

Johnny shrugged, interrupting him. "I don't care. I just wanna go home now. Can I go home, please?"

"I don't know. Mom - she had a look at - at you. And she gave you lots of painkillers -"

"I'm on drugs?" Johnny blinked. He felt sluggish, but he was still hurting. How could he be hurting if -?

"Quite a few, yeah. She said you're lucky you didn't have to be rushed into the hospital. It was a close call. She put some - stuff - on - on you. And we got you here." Evan hung his head. "Then she yelled at me for hurting you so badly, for not having any clue how anal sex works - which, thanks, by the way, I could have used a heads up there."

"I didn't know," Johnny blurted, then caught himself, because that wasn't true, and looked away. "I forgot," he said instead. "I forgot to tell you. I was drunk, too. I just wanted to fuck."

"That's not all." Evan looked completely unconvinced. "I don't know what's going on, but we - that wasn't normal. You can't - it just wasn't. We don't do this. We don't - we're friends. I'm not even - I don't even -"

Johnny flinched.

"Oh God." Evan looked like someone was pulling his canines without anaesthesia. "Oh God, please. Please, Johnny, tell me you - tell me you didn't think it was - please? I'm so sorry I hurt you and that I was stupid enough to go with you when you got to me, but - I'm not gay, okay? I'm not attracted to you. I'm so sorry. I'm so _so_ sorry."

Johnny felt the tears coming again. One spilled over, he kept the rest inside as well as he could. He couldn't speak though. It was too hard.

The door to the room opened. He saw slipper-clad feet advance on the ground, and held his position, never looking up. He didn't want to look at anyone, ever again. He didn't think he wanted to go anywhere but home, into his bed. He wanted his mom. He really, really wanted his mom to tell him everything would be all right. Even though that wasn't true.

The image of Stéphane kissing Cherish was burned into the backs of his eyelids.

 

~*~

 

There were rumours all over the school first day Monday the next week. None of them mentioned their own disastrous little hook-up, but as far as Johnny was concerned, he was glad no one knew and everyone just thought he was a spoilsport for tearing Evan away and making him drive him home.

Evan seemed very glad about that, too. It didn't help that he stayed away, though. Always at least three feet space between them, never touching. And he wasn't comfortable, at all. Not like before.

There was one rumour, though, amongst the many hilarious and disgusting ones, that scathed. Johnny heard it from one of the guys who always taunted him and treated him like he had a disease and called him a fag and that was what stung the most. He didn't expect it, and it hit him like a punch to the solar plexus.

"So, how about your boyfriend hooking up with Cherish, then?" the guy asked, sneering, leaning close, too close, right in Johnny's personal space. "I bet that must hurt like a bitch."

And it did, and the guy was lucky Johnny didn't reciprocate the hurt, just turned on his heel and left. It was quite enough to have seen it with his own eyes without some sleazy asshole smearing it in his face and gloating about it.

At least Evan understood. When Johnny asked him if he wanted to come over the weekend to hang out and talk things out, he agreed. Reluctantly, but he agreed. He said, "Are you sure it's a good idea, though? I mean - you... you aren't getting your hopes up or anything, right?"

And Johnny wasn't, he really wasn't, and once had been more than enough already, but he needed someone right now. Someone who knew what was going on, someone who was a friend. And Evan wasn't exactly acting like a good friend right now, but at least he was _there_.

 

~*~

 

Tiger Lily was jumping up and down by the door, trying to rip it down with his teeth, when the doorbell rang. That alone should have told Johnny what was going to happen, and also because it was a Saturday and nobody came by on Saturdays, not for his parents, and especially not for himself.

He took the puppy up and onto his arm, holding him firmly, and opened the door, and was completely knocked off his socks when he found himself face to face with Stéphane, who gave him a sad little smile and a brighter smile when he saw Tiger Lily, barking like mad to get out of Johnny's arms and into Stéphane's.

"Ah," Johnny said.

"Can we talk?" Stéphane asked, stepping inside. He wasn't exactly invited in, Johnny thought, anger rising one level. Johnny hadn't even said yes. But apparently, Stéphane was also done asking for things and waiting for a reply.

"Sure," Johnny said, bitingly sarcastic. "Why not? We've been doing that a lot lately anyway. What's one more?"

"Stop it," Stéphane pleaded, reaching out to touch.

Johnny jerked away, unable to stay still and allow it. "Why are you here?" he asked sharply.

Stéphane bit his lip. "I'm sorry I couldn't get up the courage to come sooner. I couldn't figure out what to say. I did something - something I'm not proud of, and I wanted to come explain -"

"Who was at the door?" Evan asked, wandering into the hallway out of the kitchen, oblivious, and stopped dead in his tracks. He held up something in his hand and said awkwardly, "Oh. found the juice. Anyone want a drink?"

Stéphane looked like a horde of elephants had assaulted him in the middle of New York City. His face had lost all its colour and he was paler than Johnny'd ever seen him. A little spike of triumph ran through him at the sight, because this was what he'd wanted, wasn't it? This - this was better than - this would erase the image of Stéphane's tongue slipping into her mouth, licking over her lips, the sound of that idiot's voice asking how much it hurt that Stéphane had a new lover now.

"What's he doing here?" Stéphane asked, hollow, and Johnny could see in his eyes that he was already guessing, already assuming, and he thought, really, there was nothing, nothing at all wrong with letting Stéphane assume like that. When Evan opened his mouth, Johnny cut him off.

"I don't know," he sneered. "We 'hooked up' at the party last weekend. It was quite fun. We thought we might give it another go today."

Stéphane turned around and walked to the door, wooden steps, slowly, like it was the hardest thing he'd ever done. He opened it to leave, seemed to hover one second, considering, then something seemed to realize with him, because he did turn around once more. His gaze went to Evan, who was staring at Johnny flabbergasted, then to Johnny. He said, voice dead, "I came to make sure you knew that the rumours flying around school are wrong. I like Cherish and we're maybe friends, but we aren't a couple, and we'll never be, and all we did at the party was make out for a little while before we realized it was nice but not what we wanted. I came - I actually," he snorted, a pitiful little sound, "I actually came to apologize for that. I'm so stupid. God, I can't believe I was stupid enough to think - shit. Shit, I'm such an idiot."

He shook his head, turned for the final time and let the door fall shut behind him, closed it right in Johnny's face, just as he always did, before Johnny could say anything else.

Johnny stared at the floor, and he thought there might really be nothing more to say. Even if he'd had the chance, he had no idea how to explain anything away anymore.

"You're the most screwed up person I've ever met, you stupid moron," Evan said softly, pushed the juice in his hand and went to get his shoes.

Tiger Lily squirmed in his arms. Johnny buried his face in his fur and squeezed his eyes shut so hard he saw stars. His puppy yelped, turned and licked his cheek. Johnny thought, at least someone was staying.

 

~*~

 

Johnny wouldn't have gone to the prom. He would have skipped it without regrets; he'd already planned on spending it on the couch, actually, curled up with his head by his dad's leg, watching a tennis ball fly back and forth on the court, sleeping a bit and wallowing in self-pity and hoping that he'd never have to see anyone else ever again, even though there was nothing he wanted to do more than find Stéphane and talk to him, try to fix this, somehow.

It was so arduous, though. It was so much trouble, so much heartbreak, so much effort to put into something that, he was almost sure, wasn't salvageable.

He didn't even want to think about Evan, who was still mad that Johnny'd used him as a weapon, who was mad that Johnny'd used him like that, scared him to death, put him through that much hassle and upset, all to get back at Stéphane for something Stéphane hadn't even done.

Johnny didn't want to think about the almost-sex they'd had, the pain of that, how he hadn't thought it would be that horrible, ever, especially not his first time; he didn't want to think about that, because it scared him, and it made him want to scratch his own eyes out for having been that stupid. He didn't understand himself sometimes, he just knew that he sometimes made split-seconds decisions that were so horrendously moronic, he wondered if he had any brain at all in his head.

The fact remained, he was attracted to Evan and he'd wanted to fuck him. There was no excuse for that. Nothing had happened against anyone's will here. It was just that it had been so _wrong_. It had been all wrong, and Johnny wanted to put it right, to fix this, make it all better, repair whatever was broken, but he couldn't. He couldn't even fix himself. He wanted to, very badly, but he couldn't. He had no idea how.

So no, Johnny wouldn't have gone to prom, wouldn't have put himself through that. But then, his mom had taken him aside and explained some things about how adult relationships worked. She was a smart woman, his mother, Johnny had to admit. They hadn't had a heart-to-heart like that for months, probably, but she still knew so much about him. More than anyone, ever.

She sat down with him on the couch in the living room and pulled him close, pulled his head onto her shoulder and said, "You don't just miss a thing like this."

"I don't want to go," Johnny replied, sighing, trying not to look guilty.

"Because you're -?" She touched his cheek and raised her eyebrows at him.

"I'm not anything," he replied, stubborn. "I just don't want to go."

"You're afraid. Of meeting people to whom you still owe something?"

"No," Johnny protested, and then bit his lip. "Yes." He couldn't lie to his mom. He just couldn't. He wondered why he'd never had that feeling with Stéphane.

"It's not good to leave things unresolved," his mom said gently. "These are the things that make you grow as a person. If you need to clear something up, to apologize to someone, to ask someone for an apology to you, if you need to fight something out, at long last. If it's anything that _matters_ \- you need to do it. Otherwise, you'll never be able to mature. And I want you to become a wonderful adult, just as wonderful as you are a child."

So Johnny really, really hadn't wanted to go to prom, but he was there, just as most of the seniors were, in their suits and ball dresses and for once, almost everyone looked pretty.

There were only two people who mattered, for him, two people he had to talk to, so he sought them out before he chickened out, before it was over and he wouldn't be able to catch them again, and he thought, maybe his mom had been right. Maybe he really needed this.

Evan went first. Evan had come with Tanith, but as friends, he was quick to assure anyone. Apparently, they had straightened things out at least partially and were on better terms now. Maybe, Johnny thought, Evan had taken a page out of his mom's rulebook. Ironing out the wrinkles, she'd call it. Tanith looked really nice in her dress, and very happy to be here, to be able to spend some more time with Evan.

"I want - I need to tell -" Johnny stopped, because Evan was looking at him suspiciously, and he rushed, "Please, I need to speak to you alone. I need to apologize properly."

And that did it. Tanith was smiling at Johnny, sadly, but also like she was really admiring him, and she waved and said, "Have fun, boys, I'm going to go find someone who'll dance with an abandoned prom date."

Evan pointed at her. "Just don't go off for too long."

She laughed and looked completely stunning. Evan seemed to see that too, because he had trouble taking his eyes off of her.

Johnny bit his lip. "We could sit down over there," he finally pointed at an abandoned table further in the back. Nobody really wanted to sit in the back except later, when there was going to be less dancing and more making out. "Nobody's sitting there."

They did, and Evan watched Johnny cautiously, almost afraid Johnny was going to jump him again. It made Johnny laugh; not a lot, but subdued, almost inwardly. And he was pretty sure, if Evan had been willing, enthusiastically willing, he might have even gone for it. But as it was, he was sure that wasn't happening. "I'm not going to pull another party stunt," he assured him, curling up one corner of his lips into a half-smile.

"You never know," Evan said, raising his eyebrows. "You might crawl under the table."

"Funny. Very funny." Johnny gave him an amused look. "I do have some style, you have to realize, so either dinner or plenty alcohol, if you really want me to skid around on this filthy floor on my knees."

Evan rolled his eyes, but he did relax a fraction.

"Look," Johnny said softly, too soft for anyone to overhear, especially since most people weren't paying attention to them. "I'm so sorry. I just - I wanted to apologize for everything that happened. For stringing you along, for making you do things you normally wouldn't. For using you like that. I went too far, and I'm very sorry about that."

Evan bit his lip. "I'm still sorry for not realizing I was hurting you, back during... you know. I didn't - I didn't mean to hurt you. And maybe I didn't make myself clear enough about - I mean." He laughed nervously. "You're kind of beautiful, okay? It's not easy to... to not get a little confused, when you're around. So I - sometimes, I mean. Sometimes, everyone wonders, right? I thought about it, this past week. I thought - maybe I did some things that made you think I wanted to. I never meant to, though. I'm sorry if that happened, if I made you think anything other than. You know."

Johnny nodded. "I didn't just use you, if you want to know. I've - I've been crushing on you for a long time now. So - so I won't lie, when the opportunity presented itself, I just went for it... but I love Stéphane. I love him so fucking much, and I - I just wanted to hurt him for hurting me first, and I'm sorry that that was part of the motive for us doing what we did, instead of doing it because I wanted to."

"That was retardedly stupid," Evan commented idly. "It really was."

"I know." Johnny took a deep breath. "I - I'm going to look for him later. Try to make him listen. But I wanted to - to make sure first. That we - _if_ we can still be friends. I like having you around. I like you a lot, and even with the fact that I'm attracted to you - I hope it's not too weird, but I'd love to still be friends. We don't have a lot in common, I know, but sometimes, you're just. You just hang out and enjoy. Right?"

"Not for long anymore," Evan warned. "I'm leaving for the other end of the continent soon."

"But until then, and maybe, I mean, there _is_ a new invention called the internet -"

"Yeah." Evan glared at the table, almost like he couldn't believe he was having this conversation. "Yeah, we're still friends. Which is pretty damn weird, considering."

"Considering." Johnny gave him a small smile. "Thanks."

"You're forgiven, this time," Evan said. "But don't try it again? No matter how stoned or drunk I am. That - do you think you can promise that?"

"Yes," Johnny said. He figured Evan should know by now that promises were worth as much as the filth on the street when it came to Johnny in extreme situations, but he didn't say anything. He would work really hard to keep his promise this time. He had control. He had to make sure he kept it. And it wasn't like so many opportunities were going to present themselves. At least he hoped not.

The important thing was that they were all right, for now. It lifted a tiny little weight off him. Not nearly enough, but, well. He was working on a lot of things, these days.

 

~*~

 

Stéphane wasn't there. Johnny couldn't believe it when he heard it. When he heard it from Cherish, of all people, who approached him when she saw him scanning the crowd carefully for Stéphane's face.

She seemed to feel awkward and uncomfortable talking to him, and like she wanted to be with her girl friends at the other end of the hall instead of with him, of all people, talking to him about Stéphane. But she'd come. It made Johnny want to kill her a little less. Not much less, though.

"You're looking for Stéphane, right?" she said, almost like she had no concern about that at all, except her eyes flickered a little uncertainly.

"Where's he?" Johnny asked, looking past her.

"He decided not to attend," she muttered. "He was really upset, and he said he wasn't feeling well and that coming would only make him unhappy."

"He told you all that?" Johnny asked, raised eyebrows.

"We were going to come together," she said, realized that that had been the wrong thing to say when she saw his drawn face and added, "as friends. I swear. We're not a couple. I know the two of you have -"

"You don't know anything," Johnny said hoarsely.

"I don't mind," she said, shrugging. "Everyone knew that you guys were a couple last year and even a few months back, and then you broke up, I thought you were over. I didn't mean to make him cheat on you. We just kissed though. It - I'm sorry about that."

"Like I said," Johnny repeated, more sharply now. "You don't know anything."

"Fine," she snapped, giving up. "Suit yourself, be a bitch. I was trying to apologize, but if you can't take a nice word, then you deserve what's coming to you."

Johnny winced. "Sorry. I'm an asshole, I know. You have nothing to be sorry for. I was - I'm a bit bitter."

"No kidding," she snorted.

"We weren't together when you guys kissed. It's just - complicated. But I have to go now. I - we have some stuff to talk through."

"You should," Cherish nodded. "You're both obviously miserable. Believe it or not, talking helps, most of the time."

"Most of the time," Johnny nodded. Sometimes, it just destroyed things. But that was mostly whenever Johnny opened his mouth. He had impeccable timing.

 

~*~

 

Chris opened the door when Johnny rang the bell, like any normal person. He'd thought about throwing some stones against Stéphane's window, but he'd long lost that right. He'd have to depend on Stéphane letting him in, being willing to talk. Johnny had a feeling this evening wouldn't end well, but he had to try. Everyone said so. Mostly it was possible that everyone was right in this matter.

"What are you doing here?" Chris asked, openly hostile.

"I need to talk to him."

"He doesn't want to see you. Possibly ever again."

"I know. But maybe - if I could just explain!"

"I think you've done enough explaining to last a lifetime." Chris started closing his door.

"What are you, his keeper now?" Johnny snapped. "Look, you ass, I just need to - just ask him. Please, ask him. Tell him I came."

Chris rolled his eyes and closed the door fully. Johnny swore and kicked the step he was standing on. His suit wasn't really looking its newest, but he guessed a suit would be a small loss if Stéphane actually accepted him inside and listened for a few minutes.

He waited ten minutes, twenty. He kept looking at his watch, felt the time pass. Now and then, he pressed the bell button, just to remind everyone in the house he was still there. He knew he was being pretentious and a total pain in the butt, but if what it took was stubbornness and patience, he'd gladly sacrifice some precious time he'd otherwise spend on the couch, wallowing.

At least it was warm outside, and his suit jacket kept the cool breeze off his skin.

Then, an hour later, the door opened and Stéphane stood, staring at him.

"I lied," Johnny said hastily, before he could think otherwise and leave again. "I lied. I'm sorry. I lied a thousand times, and it never made anything better, but I wanted to hurt you, so -"

Stéphane stepped outside, expression closed off. He shut the door behind himself carefully, then sat down on the steps next to Johnny and said, "So you didn't fuck him, then?" He didn't sound like he believed it.

Johnny hesitated. It was enough to make Stéphane start to get up again, so Johnny reached out and gripped his wrist, keeping him in place. "Don't go. I want to explain. And apologize."

Stéphane turned his head and looked at him. "What's there to explain? You wanted to lash out at me, and you did. You wanted to hurt me, and you did. Astonishingly, more than you ever have before. Congratulations." His voice was even, not breaking. His eyes were sharp and unforgiving.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything that happened between us. I don't know how to make this better, and honestly, I haven't come here in hope to repair anything that's left. I know - I know when I've done enough damage. I think."

"Well, there's a good thing at least." Stéphane rapped his fist a few times against the step they were sitting on, not hard, not even very much, just a tap-tap-tap, like a raindrop falling on the ground. "The worst thing is," he finally said, "that I felt so stupid. I actually - you know how much I love you. You know, and you still do stupid shit like this, and every time, afterwards, I feel so stupid for actually falling for you all over again."

Johnny's chest clenched from the inside, his stomach flipping, not in the good way it always did when Stéphane said he loved him. "If it - if it helps, I love you so much I don't know what to do with myself sometimes," he said.

"And you still went and - and you gave it up to him. Knowing how important -" Stéphane bit his lip. "I don't know what to say, you know? I just - I don't know what to say because just thinking about that. It makes me want to hit you, and I've never hit anyone before. I hate that you make me feel like doing it."

"We didn't actually - I mean. It was so horrible." Johnny leaned forward, letting the hair fall into his face, concealing the high flush and embarrassment and complete humiliation at the memory. "I wanted to die."

"Oh." Stéphane pressed his lips together.

"We stopped. And I was hurting so much and." Johnny gave a laugh. "And I passed out and he had to call his mom, who's a doctor, and she patched me up."

Stéphane looked away. "Why do you do this shit to yourself?" he whispered.

Johnny shrugged. "That's what Evan asked." He snorted. "He didn't even want me. He just wanted someone to - because he was high and drunk and I was drunk and I saw you making out with Cherish. I was - I hated you so much. That night. I didn't think a person could hate anyone else that much, but I did. It was even more horrible than the almost-sex."

There was no reply and Johnny dared a glance back, at Stéphane's face, and saw him, sitting there, staring at his knees, no words.

"We didn't. Never again, aside from that - we're just friends," Johnny said. "Evan and me. We - I don't even - you know how it is, right? Because I can like another person, but I really, I want to be with _you_."

"We can't be together anymore," Stéphane said, and the note in his voice was final.

"Never?" Johnny blinked away the little tear that was threatening to fall. He didn't even want to know, but he asked anyway, asked, "Why?"

Stéphane got up slowly. "I should go back in."

"Please." Johnny rose with him, never letting go of his wrist. "Please, I need to - if there's anything - I knew that you wouldn't be able to - but really, I need to know."

The first time that evening that Stéphane really looked Johnny in the eyes, and it was nothing Johnny had wanted to see, ever. There was love, so much love, always, but there was also anger, and heartbreak, and so much pain, and there was something like fear and resolution.

"I'm going to go to Europe," Stéphane said. "Spain, to be specific."

"What?" Johnny blinked. "For the summer?"

"No." Stéphane shrugged. "I wanted to tell you, before we broke up. That I was - that I wanted to go to university in Europe. But it never came up later again and I didn't know for sure until now. I - my grandmother lives, there, remember? I told you about her once. And my cousin, she works as a professor in European History and she said it wouldn't be a problem to get in, provided I applied early enough and, well. I'm going."

"What?" Johnny's grip tightened on Stéphane's wrist, too hard, hurting him, but he couldn't stop squeezing. "You're going - forever? You're leaving? For - oh."

"I'm sorry. I was wavering at first, I really was, but after everything that's happened, it will be good for me. It will distract me from - from everything here. I'm leaving in a few weeks, there's a lot of things to prepare. I can't see you anymore. That's what I came out here to tell you. I didn't - knowing what happened doesn't change anything. It doesn't, it doesn't change the fact that it makes you feel good to hurt me -"

"- it doesn't, I swear, I -"

"- and that you do it without a second thought. You don't realize that you're supposed to stop and not do it. Even when you're hurt, you're - you shouldn't lash back out. The fact that you love a person should stop you, should make you reconsider that you love them so much, even when you're hurting, that _they_ shouldn't hurt, too. You can't do that. Not for me."

"I can try," Johnny said.

"You can try. You can try as often as you want, you can torture as many other people who'll find themselves happily able to form a relationship with you - but you can't try on me. Not again."

"Stéphane -"

Stéphane slowly extracted his wrist from Johnny's hand and turned away. Then he turned around one more time, said, "I shouldn't do this, it's wrong, and I'm so sorry, but... I don't want to leave here with you thinking I'm mad at you, because I'm not. I'm really not." He stepped closer, cupped Johnny's face in his hand and put his forehead to Johnny's, just closing his eyes and breathing in once. Then he dipped his head and kissed him, soft, gentle, like he always did, like he cared about Johnny more than anything else in the world, because, well. It was the truth. He probably did.

The kiss lasted maybe five seconds, but Johnny felt himself break all over again in those five seconds and thought that this, this might have been the most cruel thing Stéphane had ever done to him.

Then Stéphane let go of him, rubbed their noses together in a last good-bye and went back inside, not saying another word. He'd said enough.

Johnny turned around and walked home, head clear of all thought and feeling. It was very late.

 

~*~


End file.
